


Once Upon a Dream

by Gia279



Series: Once Upon a Time in Beacon Hills... [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alive Hales, Alternates between Stiles and Derek, Awesome Lydia, Curse Breaking, Cursed Stiles, Curses, Derek Has Issues, Derek dealing with his problems in a healthy way, Established Relationship, F/F, F/M, Full Shift Werewolves, Human Scott McCall, M/M, Magic, Scott is a Disney princess still, Sleeping Beauty AU, Sorcerers, Sorceresses, Talia and Sheriff Stilinski are bros, because Talia Hale is no nonsense, curse breaker Stiles, fairy tale, fairy tales used as curses
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-26
Updated: 2017-03-09
Packaged: 2018-09-12 11:58:15
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 17
Words: 81,523
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9070648
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gia279/pseuds/Gia279
Summary: Months after the Hale curse is broken, Stiles and Lydia have opened their curse breaking business, Stiles and Derek are dating, and the Hale family is slowly getting back to their feet. Everything is coming together, everything seems perfect. If Stiles wasn't so busy, he'd worry when it was all going to go wrong.Derek will do it for him.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hi!!! I finally wrote out ten chapters of this (I wanted to wait until I had ten chapters before I started posting, as usual.) The plot takes /forever/ in this, but since the beginning is mostly Derek and Stiles being a couple and stuff, I hope everyone will enjoy. 
> 
> Everyone's ages are kinda wonky because of the eight year curse, so I will include an age chart at the end of the chapter.
> 
> Tell me what you think! I hope you enjoy it! 
> 
> I will post once a week until I finish writing it out.

Stiles grunted, shifting his grip and swearing when his hand slipped and scraped against the wall.

“You got it over there?”

He puffed and snapped, “Just keep pushing, I’m not going to drop it.” 

With some more swearing, sweat, and a couple scraped knuckles, Stiles and the kid from the flea market, who he’d paid $20 to help him drag the couch home, managed to get the couch into the office. 

“Okay, I got it from here. Thanks, Ricky.” 

“No problem.” He hesitated in the doorway, glancing at the couch. “It doesn’t really…match…anything else.”

“Yet,” Stiles said cheerfully. He flapped a hand. “Don’t worry, I’ve got it.”

Ricky shrugged and flipped a wave over his shoulder on his way out.

The couch was pale yellow-brown and truly hideous, but it was comfortable, and so cheap—fifteen bucks. Plus, he’d gotten a slipcover from Heather’s cousin for twenty that matched the desk and chairs Lydia had picked for the rest of the waiting room. 

Lydia walked in with lunch and coffee just as he’d finished putting the slipcover on.

“I hope you don’t plan on leaving it _there_.”

He grinned at her. “Nope. I was waiting for you to tell me where you wanted it.” He gestured at it. "Thirty-five dollars. Or, well, fifty, if you count what I gave the kid to bring the couch back in his truck.” 

“Not bad, if it doesn’t suck.”

“Ha! Sit on it. I dare you to say it sucks.”

She rolled her eyes and held his cup out to him. “Your pumpkin whatever, with extra cavities.”

“Perfect. Thanks.” He sipped and sighed. “The best part of October is that the warm drinks are so much more enjoyable. And the pumpkin spice flavor doesn’t hurt.”

Lydia just scoffed and took a seat on the couch. Her eyebrows shot up and she sank back into the cushions. 

“See? It’s great!” 

“I admit it’s a good couch. Now, after lunch, we should move it to the left side of the room.” 

“You got it.” He pulled a chair to the front desk—technically a reception desk, but seeing as how they rarely had clients, they didn’t need it too much. Yet. “Mmm, what’s for lunch?”

“I grabbed us some sandwiches and a pastry from Scents of Humor. Lexa’s best friend works there—she got hired before they opened—and they highly recommended it. That’s where I got our coffee, too.” 

Stiles turned his cup until he saw the script on the side of his cup. _Scents of Humor_ was scrawled on the side in orange writing. “Nice. Are they close by?”

“If I didn’t know you’d been spending so much time here, I’d ask why you haven’t seen it. They’re two down and across the street from Heather’s place.”

“Ooh, nice.” He took a big drink of the coffee, humming with approval. “Yes, delicious.” 

“Glad you approve. Here, eat your sandwich.” She held out a wrapped sub until he took it. “Heather and Lexa are going to the movies Friday and asked if you and Derek wanted to come. They also invited Jackson and me, but I want to stay here to make sure everything with billing is in order.” 

Stiles wrinkled his nose. A movie sounded much more fun than paperwork, but it wasn’t fair to leave it all to Lydia, especially considering she’d done most of the initial startup work anyway.

“No, I’ll stay in and help.”

She smiled. “Okay. Peter, Cora, and Mikaela should be here after lunch.”

They didn’t have much to offer by way of payment—yet—but since the Hale kids couldn’t go to school yet—being eight years younger than all of their official records claimed made things difficult—Talia had asked if they could help out at Stiles’s new business. 

They paid Mikaela and Peter what they could—which was less than what they deserved, really—and since Cora was only twelve, they took her as a volunteer; she mostly just hung out and listened to the radio anyway. 

“Peter’s supposed to be off today,” Stiles said, picking a piece of cheese off his sandwich and eating it.

Lydia wrinkled her nose. “He wants to come in, off the clock, and help Mikaela.” 

“Ah. He’s bored at home, then?”

“I suppose. Aren’t they still moving?”

The Hale house had mostly been burned up, but having werewolves to do the demolition work and the rebuilding made it a pretty fast fix. Almost all of their things had been destroyed, so a lot had had to be replaced. A lot of it had been irreplaceable—pictures, first edition books, baby toys and clothes, memories that families collected over time. 

They were all so happy to be awake and together that everything else was small to them. 

That hadn’t stopped Laini from taking mounds of pictures, determined to replenish their supplies. 

“Um, mostly it’s small stuff now. Their furniture got delivered a couple days ago. Dom wants every room painted a different color, so everyone’s avoiding the fumes.”

“Ah.” She sipped her coffee and smiled against the cup. “Speaking of the Hales…”

He followed her gaze to the door and grinned, jumping to his feet. 

Derek waved and pulled the door open. “Hey. Sheriff Stilinski asked if I could bring this to you.” He pointed at the microwave under his other arm, like it weighed nothing.

“Oh, cool, thanks. I keep forgetting to go get that.” 

When they’d leased the building, Lydia had told him that the apartment above the office could be rented out—it would have been nice to have extra income, but they decided that having tenants on top of a new business was too much work. And Stiles had wanted the apartment, admittedly. 

His father had insisted on giving him his old small appliances, claiming he’d been meaning to get new ones forever, but Stiles saw right through him.

He still appreciated it.

“I can carry it up for you. Hi, Lydia,” he added with a quick, shy smile. 

“Derek. Do you want to have lunch with us?” She lifted the café bag, inside of which was a third sandwich. She was psychic. She had to be.

“Oh, uh, sure. If you don’t mind.”

“I don’t,” she said firmly. 

Stiles adored her for her single-minded determination to include Derek in things. He seemed hesitant and unsure of what to do with himself while everyone else was quickly getting back to real life.

Stiles and Lydia, for instance, opened a business, Mikaela and Peter worked for them, Laura was working in Heather’s flower shop, and Simon was helping out at the diner. 

Derek was in therapy and helping with the house, but beyond that, he didn’t seem to know what to do.

“Then I’ll stay,” he said with another smile.

“C’mon, let’s go set that down. You know,” Stiles said as they stepped out onto the sidewalk, “I gave you a key so you could get upstairs whenever you wanted to.” His apartment could be reached through a door on the side of the building, but he had to stop and admire the neat _Martin & Stilinski_ lettering on the front door. 

“I didn’t want to go without your permission,” Derek said as they rounded the corner.

Stiles jangled his keys lightly before unlocking the outer door that blocked the stairs off from the street. “The key _was_ my permission. Not just to help me move in.” He let Derek past and shut the door behind him. “I found Scott sleeping in the kitchen last weekend when he passed out while studying. We are still friends. You’re just as welcome here.” 

He had to say that to Derek a lot. He hadn’t gotten tired of reassuring him, so he figured he was still pretty stuck on him.

Derek didn’t reply; he just used his own key to open the main door and glanced over his shoulder with his brows lifted. 

“Ha-ha, yes, very good. C’mon, we can probably find a counter spot for it.” 

The living room and kitchen was basically one open space; to the right was a short hall with three doors: the tiny narrow one was a towel closet (towel population: 3), directly across from that was the bathroom, and at the end of the hall was the bedroom. 

“Next to the toaster maybe?” Stiles suggested. 

“There’s not enough space. What about on the other side of the stove?”

“Is there a plug there?” he asked in surprise.

Derek snorted and moved a bag of chips, revealing a plug.

“Okay! Perfect. I can put the chips and bread on top of the fridge and save counter space.” Stiles gathered up the junk to stow on top of the fridge and stepped out of his way. “So, how has your day been?” he asked. 

Derek shrugged while plugging in the microwave and adjusting it on the counter. “Fine. The sheriff saw me leaving Dr. Morrell’s office and asked if I could take the microwave to you.” 

Ah-ha. The timing made sense now, anyway. “I’m glad. You’re pretty good company. And Lydia would love your advice for organizing the records.” He grinned at him. “Wanna make out on the couch before we go back down for lunch?”

Derek laughed. “Lydia will be mad if you take too long getting back.”

“Not,” Stiles said as he stepped closer, “if I blame you. She’d never get mad at you.” Before he could do more than slide his hands up Derek’s chest, his phone chimed with Lydia’s tone. He dropped his head on Derek’s shoulder. “She’s psychic! It’s not fair!”

Derek laughed again, louder. “Come on. I’m hungry anyway.” He took Stiles’s hand and pulled him back out of the apartment and down the stairs. 

Lydia didn’t comment when they returned, just pushed Derek’s sandwich across the desk.

“Thank you.”

A smile flickered over her face. “You can bring lunch tomorrow.”

“Okay.” He sat in the seat next to Stiles.

“So, while you guys were putting away that microwave for ten minutes, I got a call—we have an appointment at 2:30. She’s been cursed for a couple weeks with no change and her father finally got tired of them failing to break it on their own. He’s making her use her allowance to pay us to break it.” 

“Nice! Well, not for her. Do you know what kind of curse it is?”

Lydia grimaced. “No, but Mr. Barker said he would explain when he got here. They do know who cast it, which is a plus.”

“That is good. Helpful.” Stiles was focused on what was left of his sandwich. 

Lydia was already looking away, her attention focusing on penning in the Barker appointment. 

Derek glanced at the door. “Before your appointment gets here, I can go to the back and start organizing the books…”

“We have some shelves back there, but not nearly enough. It’s really more like stacking them in organized groups.” 

They had been given permission from Mayor Hooper and Mrs. McKennitt to move all of the curse records to their building with the condition that any residents could use them during operating hours without charge. This was a condition they were happy to abide, especially considering it gave them easy access to the records. 

“Are you finished, Stiles?” Lydia asked, drawing his attention from his phone. 

“Hmm? Yeah.” He gathered up his trash and grinned at her. 

“Why don’t you take Derek to the records room, then?” She lifted her brows. 

“Oh-kay.” He tossed his trash in the can and stood up. 

Derek threw his own garbage out and thanked Lydia again before following Stiles down the short hall. He paused to grin at Stiles’s office, which was basically a closet with a small computer desk in it, but it was _his_.

“It’s small but usable,” Stiles said soberly. 

“It needs pictures,” Derek said in a passable imitation of Laini Hale’s enthusiastic proclamation every time she saw a room.

Stiles laughed. “We can hang some up later.” 

“You’re still coming to dinner tonight, right?”

“Yes.”

“Good. Laini’s got some pictures for you.” 

“Perfect. You can help me put them up.” He pushed open the door to the biggest room in the office and threw his arms out. “Behold. The records room.”

Books were stacked in piles of about four feet or higher, all over the room, along with notebooks and plenty of dust. A single sturdy bookcase stood empty against the back wall. 

“Ah, it’s a work in progress,” he said when Derek just stared in, horrified. 

He nodded slowly. “You—you need shelves. And—just…not that.”

“What, the bookshelf? Why? We figured we could—okay, no,” he said, confused, as Derek just kept shaking his head. 

Derek leaned in and stopped, his face inches from Stiles’s; this was a Derek Thing, as Stiles thought of it, and it had worried Stiles at first. 

Now he knew all he had to do was nod and lean in, too. Derek grabbed his chin and kissed him briefly. 

“I’ll be right back. I’m going to Lowes.” 

Stiles leaned after him and lost his balance. “Well, hey, why not in five, maybe ten minutes?”

Derek snorted.

He sighed. “Okay, fine. But here, you can take my jeep. What’re you getting from Lowes?” he asked, holding his keys out.

Derek hesitated before accepting them. “Thanks. Just…shelves. I’ll be right back.” 

While the deep well of the Hales’ savings had covered a lot, it hadn’t stretched enough to get Derek a car when there were already five in the Hale household, four of which had needed repairs on top of the ones needed for the house. 

Derek usually walked everywhere lately—Stiles thought it was because he was trying to get to know the town again—and when he didn’t, there were plenty of people ready and able to give him a ride. 

“See you when you get back then.” Stiles followed him to the front and watched him leave with his arms crossed. 

“He’ll be okay, Stiles,” Lydia said, slightly impatient. “Your fretting just makes him anxious.”

“I know.” He sighed and relaxed. “What do we do now?”

“Get ready for our appointment. The couch should be moved. I’m looking at this table on Varagesale.” She tilted her phone so he could see. “More of a coffee console, but I thought if we got it, we could put it against that wall and use it for a coffee maker and some refreshments.”

“Huh. Well, it’s nice—and only twenty bucks, great!”

“I’m getting it. Jackson can pick it up for us.” She started typing on her phone rapidly.

The door opened, blowing in cold air and three Hales. 

“Hey, Stiles,” Mikaela said, bounding right over to the desk and snatching up his coffee. “Mmm, pumpkin spice.” 

“Hey,” he protested weakly. He wasn’t really bothered—she was always doing that. He’d gotten used to it.

“Hi, Lydia,” Cora said. “I like your skirt.” She leaned over the desk to get a better look.

“Thanks. We’re still going to the mall on Friday, promise.” Lydia set her phone aside and stood, giving Peter a cold stare. “We have an appointment at 2:30.” 

He grinned. “Perfect.” He looked at his nieces. “Go get that stuff out of the car. Mik, please make sure Cora doesn’t scratch the car up _too_ badly.”

Mikaela rolled her eyes and tromped after her cousin.

“What’d you bring?” Stiles asked suspiciously.

“Office supplies. Just helping get this place organized.” He tipped his head when the phone rang.

Lydia lifted her brows and gestured regally for him to answer it. 

Peter stepped around the desk and sat in the leather chair, lifting the phone. “Martin and Stilinski, how may I help you?” He hummed and lifted a pen, tapping it against the appointment book. “No, we don’t do phone consultations. For a fee,” he said gleefully, and barked out a laugh when Lydia snatched the phone from him. 

“Hello? Oh—Laura. Yes, he is.” Lydia tapped her nails against the desk. “Only because he knows _some_ helpful information. Yes, here he is.” She dropped the phone back into Peter’s palm. “I’ll be in my office. Send the Barkers back when they arrive.”

“Jeeze, Peter,” Stiles sighed.

Peter just snorted and told Laura that she had left her wallet in his car after lunch and promised to bring it to her before five. 

Mikaela and Cora returned carrying a file cabinet and some Staples bags. 

“Peter insisted on the file cabinet,” Mikaela said, shifting her grip on it slightly. “He thinks we should keep our own separate records as well as the official ones.”

“Huh. Do you need a hand with that?”

She snorted him. “Dude, I carried _your_ dresser up to your apartment because you couldn’t.” She set the cabinet against the wall behind the desk. 

“Good work.” Peter took the bags from Cora, who, relieved of duty, went off to find Lydia. “I got a ton of pens, folders, highlighters, some calendars, markers. Usual office things.” He started spreading things across the desk. “Once things pick up a bit, we’ll get more official stuff, but this should do.” He started splitting the supplies into piles.

Mikaela rolled her eyes at Stiles. “Where’d you get the couch?”

“Flea market. I paid some kid to help me with it.” 

“Dude,” she said disapprovingly.

“I didn’t want to interrupt anyone’s day!” 

“ _Dude._ ” She shook her head. “Free labor. Right here! Does Derek know you paid someone?” she asked shrewdly.

“Ah-ha, no,” he snorted. “Here, help me move it. Lydia wants it over here.”

Mikaela rolled her eyes and moved it herself.

It was nice, having werewolves as friends.

“So, Casey cried today because Aunt Talia wants her to start doing these workbooks she found at an educator’s supply store. She and Lucy think we’re on vacation or something.” She rolled her eyes. “Mom says Aunt Talia is getting in contact with some old friends in New York so we can all go back to school before winter break.”

“Good!” That came out way more enthusiastically than he’d meant.

“Hey!” 

“He’s right. You all should be in school,” Peter said. “Here, Stiles, take these to your office. Mik, take these to Lydia.” He held out two desk calendars, each piled with pens, paperclips, and highlighters. 

“Thank you, Peter.”

“I like the idea of your business and I want it to work,” he said simply.

When Stiles was finished putting his new supplies away in their proper spots, he found Peter greeting a man and a teenager at the front. The teenager had a blue bucket in her arms and a nauseated look on her face. 

“Ah, here’s Mr. Stilinski. Stiles, this is Andrew Barker and his daughter, Avery.”

“We’ve tried to break it on our own but we couldn’t figure it out,” Mr. Barker said with a grimace. “I figured, well, I know you worked at the library, and you broke the Hale curse…”

“Right.” Stiles gave Avery a sympathetic smile. “What kind of curse is it?”

Avery glanced at her father pleadingly.

He just narrowed his eyes at her.

She sighed through her nose and looked back at Stiles. “Brandon Greene cursed me a couple weeks ago,” she said firmly. Between words, snakes and frogs had spewed from her mouth, choking her up a couple times and thumping into the bucket. A small lizard caught itself on her bottom lip with its back claw. She caught it and grimaced before dropping it into the bucket. 

“Oh…wow.” Stiles leaned over the bucket to see all the animals collected. None of the snakes appeared to be venomous. “Um, did he say why he cursed you?”

Peter caught a frog that had made a leap for freedom and started examining it.

Avery’s face flushed. 

Mr. Barker answered for her. “She called his little brother a “frog-faced” snot, if I recall correctly.” He shot her a sharp, irritated look. 

“Oh.” Stiles smiled a little. “So, actually, I’ve seen this curse before. Sort of.” 

“Reptile mouth curse,” Peter said helpfully.

“But the fro-” she coughed out a frog and just stopped, looking mortified. 

“Probably a little personal touch from Greene as payback for the name calling.” Stiles tapped his legs. “So, I’m going to have to look into the records to find a cure. What do you do with them all?” he asked before he could stop himself, gesturing at the bucket. 

“So far, we’ve been taking them to animal control, so they can release them where they won’t get hurt or hurt anything they shouldn’t.” Mr. Barker grimaced. “They aren’t happy with us lately.”

“Right. Well, you can just follow me back to Lydia’s office.” 

“I can show them,” Mikaela said with a perky smile reserved for clients. “I’m Mikaela,” she said cheerily. 

Stiles squinted at her as she led them away, earning a sly look over her shoulder. 

“You probably won’t find the curse’s exact details in those records,” Peter said casually. “You read about that curse in _my_ book collection.” 

“There should be a cure in there, though, right? The curse has happened before. It’s older, but it has been used before.” 

“Yeah, maybe. But I already have the cure’s instructions with me.” He laughed and pulled a folded piece of paper out of his back pocket. “My sources informed me of Miss Barker’s curse a few days ago. I figured they’d come by soon.”

“Your sources? That makes you sound like a movie villain.” 

Peter waved the paper. “Do you want this or not?”

Stiles sighed and held his hand out. “Yes, please.”

“We should make up a form for clients to fill out,” he said thoughtfully. “In cases like this, where it’s difficult to speak, there should be an easy, clear way to explain themselves and a form should help.” 

Stiles nodded absently—forms sounded like something for _later_ —and glanced over the list.

**Reptile Mouth Curse: 4 drops snake blood, 2 aloe leaves, 6 bee ophrys, and 2 bluebell flower petals. Burn as incense in a closed room.**

“I wanted to do it myself,” he admitted with a sigh.

“You are doing it yourself. Go get the ingredients, so we can figure out how much to charge them.”

Stiles sighed. He didn’t know how to coherently explain to Peter that he wanted to do _every_ part himself, including finding the cure through research that he did on his own. 

But that seemed stupid and ungrateful, considering Peter had gone through the trouble of getting it for him.

“Thanks.” 

“Can you take Laura’s wallet to her for me?”

“Sure.” He took it off the corner of the desk.

“Good. I’ll get the blood.” He opened a drawer and pulled out a short knife and a vial.

“Office supplies?” Stiles raised his eyebrows. 

“For this business, these _are_ office supplies.”

“Fair enough,” he admitted. “Okay. Be right back.” 

The air was brisk outside, but it was sunny, and once he got walking, he had to push his sleeves up to keep cool. 

Laura was at the counter when he got there. “Hey! Heather’s out for lunch.” She made a grand gesture. “People aren’t exactly keen on flowers in the cold. Who knew? Do you think your friend has faery blood?” she asked conversationally. 

“Um, I don’t know. Why?” he asked, brushing a finger over some purple blooms beside him as he crossed the shop. 

“Because she manages to grow out-of-season plants with no effort at all, and they thrive, even once she clips them.” Laura shrugged and flipped her hair over her shoulder. She looked a lot like Talia, but she’d inherited Dominick’s long, lanky build. 

“Huh. I never even thought about it.” He lifted the list. “I need some help.”

Laura rubbed her hands together. “Awesome. I’ve been dying to get in on some of that curse breaking.”

“Well, I need flowers,” Stiles said dryly, “so it should be plenty exciting.” 

Laura wasn’t put out by her task, instead pleased to have something to do. 

She bundled all the flowers together, wrapping them in green tissue paper before she rang him up. “So, how’s it working out with Peter and Mikaela?” she asked with a wicked grin.

Stiles rolled his eyes. “Peter knows he and Lydia will buttheads over everything, so he antagonizes her to distract her from the decisions he wants to make by pissing her off over nothing.” 

“Yeah, that sounds like Peter.” She tapped at the register. “Lydia told me to remind you to use the business credit card, by the way. She says you keep forgetting when you buy stuff for the office or whatever.” 

“I do. Well, here.” He passed it over and looked around when the door chimed.

An older woman walked in, scooped up an armful of various flowers, and marched toward the counter. She smiled briefly at Stiles and then stared straight ahead. 

“Hi! Be with you in a minute,” Laura said cheerfully as she swiped Stiles’s credit card. She wrapped the receipt around it, handing it over with the flowers and aloe. 

“Thanks, Laura. See you later tonight.”

“Bye!”

Peter was waiting with a large pot on the front desk.

“Okay, seriously? We can’t look like evil sorcerers while trying to break curses.”

“Well, what do you suggest? Burning the flowers in the coffee pot?” Peter asked. 

“No,” he sighed. “What room should she use?” he asked, breaking up the bee ophrys flowers and dropping them into the pot.

“Your office is the smallest. And I doubt Lydia will give hers up.”

Stiles sighed again. “You’re right.” He plucked the bluebell petals. “Okay, here’s the aloe, we need the blood. Did you…kill…the snake?”

“For just a little blood? No.” He snorted. “That would be wasteful. Anyway, go put this in your office. Here’s a lighter, but make sure she’s the one who-”

“I know,” he interrupted, scooping up the pot.

The records room was open; Stiles could see Derek’s jacket draped over a stack of books.

Lydia’s office was open, too, and the Barkers were being chattered at by Mikaela and Cora. 

Stiles set the pot on his desk and crossed the hall. “Hey, I’ve got everything you need.” 

Avery grinned widely, but didn’t speak—thankfully. 

“Thank you,” Mr. Barker said, jumping to his feet. He nudged Avery until she stood, too, dragging her bucket with her. 

“Okay, all you’ve got to do is light the flowers on fire and keep the door closed.” 

“Can I go in with her?” Mr. Barker asked, dropping his hand on Avery’s shoulder.

“Yeah. Um, just don’t _lock_ the door. Check every few minutes or so to see if she’s still coughing up frogs.” Do not laugh. Do _not_ laugh. “It shouldn’t take more than about twenty minutes.” 

“Okay.”

“Avery has to light it, remember.”

“Right.” Mr. Barker ushered Avery into the office and closed the door.

Stiles poked into Lydia’s office. “What do I do with this receipt?”

“Just give it to me,” she said, holding her hand up. “I’ll put it with the other documents for now. I’ll add the total to their receipt.” She brushed her hair back. “Derek brought a screwdriver and metal shelves.” 

“He doesn’t want help,” Mikaela added, swinging her legs. She was perched on the edge of Lydia’s desk. “But he’d _love_ for you to go watch him.”

“Shut up!” Derek called, before the loud sound of an electrical screwdriver drowned out his voice. 

Cora snorted. “He wants you to be impressed by his ability to use a screwdriver.” 

Stiles couldn’t help laughing when Mikaela did, especially when it seemed obvious that Cora had no clue why they were laughing so hard.

Stiles peeked in to see Derek’s progress. “Oh, wow.”

Derek stopped. “Good ‘wow’ or bad?” he asked nervously. 

“Definitely good.”

He’d started hanging white metal shelves on the walls, just below and at eye level and had even gotten some books off the floor.

“Great. I’ll just keep working then.”

“Why don’t you want any help?” Stiles asked carefully, leaning against the door jamb.

Derek shrugged and started marking a place for another shelf. “Everyone else is working, I didn’t want to pull anyone from anything.”

“Ha!” Cora scoffed loudly from the other room, where she was clearly eavesdropping.

“Technically, they’re hiding from Peter in Lydia’s office. So, you wouldn’t be pulling anyone from anything.”

He sighed. “I just want to do this for you.” His ears and neck flushed red. “For you guys. For letting me hang out here when I have nothing better to do.” 

“You don’t have to pay us back for _that_. You’re allowed to hang out with us, Derek. You’re our friend and my boyfriend,” he pointed out, a grin creeping over his face.

Derek smiled back. “I know. And I just…I just want to do this. Don’t you have clients to be taking care of?”

“They’re in my office breaking the curse. And…that’s the only client we’ve had today.” 

“Peter’s been spreading the word. You guys will be plenty busy in no time.” He picked up the screwdriver, which seemed like a dismissal, so Stiles kissed his cheek lightly before he left the room. 

“You’ve two appointments tomorrow,” Peter said smugly. “One animal transformation curse that should be easy enough to break and,” he said with a flourish, “a dragon curse.” 

“Dragon curse! Who is coming up with this stuff!”

“Sorceresses, according to my research,” Peter said dryly. “And it’s been extensive.”

“No, I mean—Reptile mouth curse, dragon curse—even Derek’s curse. They’re all old, outdated curses. I can’t understand why they’re showing up so often now.” Stiles paced around the hall and front room. “I mean, animal transformation, that’s normal, as well as, like, the death aura curse, narcissism curse, aging, lying, containment curses. Those are…normal.” He paused his pacing to knock on his office door. “Everything okay?”

“Only two snakes this time!” Mr. Barker called enthusiastically.

“Great!” He went back to the front. “What kind of details did you get for the two appointments?”

“Just what I’ve told you. But you know how to break animal transformation curses.”

“I’ve never dealt with a dragon curse in person, though.” He ran a hand through his hair. “Maybe I should go look into it now.”

“Berries and flower petals and blood—dragon curses aren’t any more complicated than the one we’ve just broken,” Peter said, gesturing carelessly at the closed door. “We’ll just have to worry about the curses like Derek’s walking through that door.”

“What?”

Peter smiled grimly. “How do you plan to break a curse if the cure is trust and love? Or something equally intangible?”

Stiles crossed his arms. “There aren’t very many of them floating around, so I’m not-”

“There aren’t very many _yet_.” Peter held his hands out. “Or many we’ve heard of.” 

Stiles shook his head. “I don’t-”

The Barkers opened the door, then, letting out a thin cloud of smoke.

“Oh, go open the door!” Mikaela called. “Quick! Before the fire alarm goes off!”

Peter was already across the room, holding the door open. 

Mr. Barker crossed the hall to thank Lydia, beaming. 

“Thank you,” Avery said. Her smile widened when nothing came out with the words. “I don’t even care that my car savings are going on this, I’m just happy to be done with that.” She grimaced. “Now I want to go home and brush my teeth for, like, six years.” 

Stiles chuckled. “I’m glad we could help.”

“Avery, come sign this receipt and thank Miss Martin,” Mr. Barker called. 

She rolled her eyes and turned, hauling her bucket with her.

It looked like one of the snakes had started eating a frog.

“Blech,” Stiles mumbled, turning away.

For their third client—fourth, if you counted Derek—that wasn’t bad. Maybe they could succeed after all.

 

Dinner at the Hale house, full of thirteen Hales, three unrelated betas, two Stilinskis, and one McCall, was chaos of the best kind. Coats and shoes were shucked in the foyer, the coats tossed to an unamused Emily Hale—thirteen and far too interested in cars to hang out in what she considered basically a library all day—who had let everyone in. People gathered in the dining room and kitchen, spilling into the halls and living room. 

The house looked different than it had when Stiles had been there.

Of course it did. They’d had to gut it. Only the very basics of the house had survived to be built upon, and they had done wonderfully. 

“Stiles!” Laini’s bright cap of hair—she’d hacked most of it off recently and the new look was at once striking and a little off-putting, because he’d only known her with long hair—was just visible in the crowd until she shoved Peter and Mikaela out of the way. She hugged him quick and tight. “Hey, these are for you. Don’t forget them.” She pressed a stack of photos in his hands, all varying sizes. 

At the top of the stack was a picture of him and Derek eating in the yard, covered in plaster dust and soot. 

It had been during the one demolition day they’d let Stiles help on, after he’d been released from the hospital. Demolition was so much fun.

“Thank you.”

She kissed his cheek and dove right back in. 

Stiles had only just set the pictures under his jacket when someone jumped on his back and nearly knocked him over. 

“Hi, Stiles!” Erica cheered. 

Instantly, Boyd and Isaac converged on him for a group hug that nearly sent them all on the floor.

Behind them, the door opened and Laura said, “Ooh, puppy pile!” and added her weight. 

Boyd, laughing, squirmed his way free. “We were going to come by and see your office, but we thought you might be busy.”

“Psh. Not yet. Anyway, the more people we have coming and going, the better. You know how Beacon Hills is. They’ll be talking about how busy we are by Monday and we’ll be getting appointments left and right.” 

Erica scratched him slightly when Laura bumped her. “Oops. Well, we’ll come see you soon then. Come on. Why are we standing in the foyer?”

“Dunno,” Laura said. “Dad!” she bellowed.

“What?!” he called back.

“Got you something! Where are you?” She shuffled by with an enormous bouquet of yellow roses on her arm.

“Oh, god,” Erica said, sounding delighted. “Dom hates roses. I gotta see this.” She darted off with Boyd in tow.

“Hey, Isaac,” Stiles said, patting his back. “How’re you doing?”

“Good.” He shrugged. “Talia’s got the three of us studying to get our GEDs. She’s going to have Derek do it, too, if he wants, but he’s not really ready for that yet.”

“Got it. So you like it here?”

“Definitely.” He turned to watch, amused, when Laini and Ethan’s youngest daughter, Lucy, ran by wrapped head to toe in toilet paper. 

“I can see why.”

Casey, Derek’s youngest sister, followed a moment later, wearing a hot pink cape and a small plastic pith hat. “Hi, Stiles, Isaac. Lucy is a mummy. I have to kill her now,” she said seriously. With that, she took off running again. 

“Adorable,” Stiles said, grinning at Isaac.

“Come on. You should see when Emily and Cora get involved—and they do. No one is too old for playing pretend here,” he added with a grin.

“Exactly right. Boys, are you going to come in or not?”

“Hi, Talia,” Stiles said, stepping further in until he was absorbed into the dining room chaos.

Talia, even dressed in black leggings and an overlong red sweater, her dark hair swept back in a low, messy ponytail, managed to exude a calm sort of regality. She was wearing fuzzy socks with pumpkins on them, pulled up to mid-calf.

Stiles wasn’t sure how she managed to pull it off. 

“How was your day?” she asked, leaning in to hug him.

_All_ of the Hales were huggers, especially within their home. If you were invited in, you were a close enough friend to be hugged. 

“Good. Slow. Peter helped a lot.”

“I’m glad. I worried he’d be a hindrance, but he really does seem to like it there.” She rumpled Stiles’s hair. “Your father is waiting for a hello. Better get over there before Dom chases Laura through here and breaks everything up.”

Stiles laughed and started winding his way through the Hales. 

Simon poked his head out of the kitchen to say hello when he passed. 

Melissa and John were talking to Laini, who had her camera in hand. 

“Hey, Dad, Mel.”

“Hey!” 

They both gave him a half hug from either side; Melissa brushed at his hair immediately after, mumbling about looking scruffy while he was starting a business. 

“It was the wind, I didn’t look like this all day,” he said. “How was _your_ day?” he asked pointedly. 

John, his arm still wrapped around Stiles’s shoulder, sighed and squeezed him. “It was good. Not really eventful.”

Melissa made a little scoffing noise, but Laini distracted her before Stiles could ask what _that_ was supposed to mean. 

“Okay, everyone, kids, dinner’s almost ready!” Dominick called. He had Laura over his shoulder and the roses in his other hand. “Get to your seats if you’re under 5’5.” With that, he carted a cackling Laura out of the house.

“Have you seen Derek, Dad?” Stiles asked while the kids scrambled to the table.

“Oh, yeah—he’s in the kitchen helping Ethan and Simon cook.”

Stiles smiled. “I see.”

Laini snorted loudly, drawing their attention.

Lucy had come to her for help escaping her toilet paper prison. “Mom, I don’t want to be a mummy for Halloween anymore.” 

“Is that so?” she asked, pretending to be shocked as she ripped the paper off her head.

“Yes. Cora said mummies are _dead people._ And Emily said that was true, and, Mom,” Lucy said, dangerously serious, “dead people are gross.” 

“Agreed. Go sit down now.” 

Melissa smiled at her as she passed. “She’s cute.”

“An adorable menace,” Laini agreed, holding up her handfuls of toilet paper. “Be right back. Go claim some seats.” 

The chaos didn’t exactly settle once they were all at the table with food, it just became more concentrated. 

Stiles got to sit by Derek thanks to Talia’s seating arrangements—meaning she’d shooed everyone away to make sure two side-by-side seats were saved—and across from Simon. Extra chairs had been added to the table for guests, and if elbows bumped a little due to the squeeze, no one seemed to mind.

“Oh, Sheriff, Melissa, Stiles, I’ve been meaning to ask you,” Talia began, pausing to let the others quiet down so she could be heard. “I was hoping you would all come by on Halloween. The little guys are going trick-or-treating, but we’ll be handing out candy and watching scary movies.”

John grimaced. “Halloween is a busy night for me, but the kids are welcome to trick or treat at the station.” He grinned at Casey, who was not quiet about her interest in the sheriff’s department or, more precisely, their weapons.

“Do it,” Stiles said, grinning. “They give out full sized candy bars and glow sticks.”

Lucy and Casey looked thrilled and started chattering about their costumes immediately.

“I can come—Scott’s going to be in town, too,” Melissa said with a smile. “He’d love to see everyone.”

“Great!” Talia looked at Stiles hopefully.

“I will be here—with the movies. You guys missed some good ones in the last eight years.”

“I’m sure.” She smiled. “Well, two out of three, plus Scott—not bad.”

“You’ll stop by, though, won’t you, Sheriff?” Simon asked, elbowing Cora when she stole a piece of meat from his plate.

“Sure, I can swing by.” John looked up to smile at Stiles, clearly pleased. 

“Good.”

“You don’t have to come,” Derek said, very quietly, right into Stiles’s ear. “They can be pushy, but you just have to say what you want really loudly.”

Stiles almost dropped his fork. He turned his head and kissed Derek’s cheek, making him smile. “I want to. It’ll be fun.”

“Okay,” he said softly, looking pleased. 

Stiles adored the Hales; he’d always wanted a big family, and it was like being absorbed into one. But even if he couldn’t _stand_ them, he’d still have gone, just to put that look on Derek’s face.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! Enjoy chapter two! I hope you like it! Let me know what you think!
> 
> Sorry all the chapters are so long--I haven't been able to find a good stopping place before...where I stop...and it turns into 6k beasts! D: Well, anyway--enjoy! <3

The thing about Stiles was that he loved Derek. He loved him in an obvious but quiet way that was so unlike him it made Derek’s stomach flutter. 

He understood, without being told, what it meant when Derek’s shoulders hunched in or tensed up and he knew when not to touch or when Derek needed to be smothered in hugs and gentle pats. 

Derek didn’t know when he’d learned those things, but he liked it. He just wished he knew Stiles as well as he knew Derek. 

He couldn’t tell if Stiles was actually okay with being kissed, or if he was just holding still and letting it happen—those were two very different things.

So Derek couldn’t help it when he hesitated, when he checked and made sure Stiles was okay with everything before he did anything. 

He couldn’t stomach the thought of taking something Stiles didn’t want to give, and so he asked. 

“Derek?” Stiles touched his cheek with the very tips of his fingers, drawing his attention. “You okay?”

They were in Stiles’s living room, curled together on the couch watching a movie. Or, well, the credits of a movie; Derek must have spaced out.

“Yes. I was just thinking.”

Stiles smiled and threaded his fingers through Derek’s hair gently. “What about?”

“You, mostly.” He closed his eyes and let himself be tugged closer, pressing his face into Stiles’s neck.

“That’s nice to hear. Anything good?” he asked, nipping at Derek’s jaw. 

“I was thinking that…you love me.”

Stiles’s heartbeat stuttered and sped up. “Yes,” he said after a moment. “I do.” 

“I was thinking I’m lucky and I’m glad.” He lifted himself onto his elbows to look down at him, so he could see his face. “I’m glad you do.” 

Stiles smiled, his eyes crinkling up in the corners just like his father's, Derek had learned, and he stroked Derek’s hair fondly. 

Derek sighed and settled, but only for a moment. He couldn’t be comfortable for long, knowing that Stiles wanted to hear that he loved him back, and was being denied that. 

The thing was, Derek didn’t think he _could_ love anymore. He thought, maybe, in the deepest part of him, that Kate had broken something in him. He liked Stiles, he liked being with him, but he didn’t even know what the good kind of love felt like.

 

Later, probably far later than they should have been up, Stiles was pulling on sweatpants for bed and yawning, when he asked if Derek was spending the night.

“If it’s okay,” he said quietly. 

“Of course it is. Here’s your sweats,” he added, tossing a pair of pants and a sweater to him.

Derek would normally have refused, but Stiles’s apartment got _cold_ , especially at night. 

So he changed into the soft pajamas that he kept at Stiles’s apartment—they were still building Derek’s wardrobe back up and it was a revelation to have clothes that were his size again after eight years. 

Stiles stretched out on the right side of the bed, wiggling until he was comfortable. His shirt rucked up, but he didn’t seem to care. “Get the light?” he asked with his eyes closed. He was smiling.

“Yeah.” Derek flipped the switch and crawled into the bed. As he moved, he disturbed the blankets and sheets, throwing Stiles’s scent up into the air. He tried not to make it obvious he was taking deep gulps of it. “We have to get up early,” he whispered, touching a fingertip to Stiles’s mouth.

“I have to get up early,” Stiles countered. “You can sleep in. Kiss me,” he added. “I can tell you want to.”

“Observant,” Derek murmured before setting his lips on Stiles’s.

Kissing Stiles was sometimes soft and quiet and gentle; sometimes it was gasping and fast and rough, and other times it was quick and fun, but it never left Derek feeling sick or dirty. 

Now were the slow, quiet kisses. After Stiles mumbled a “ _yes_ ,” against his mouth, Derek let his hands trail over Stiles’s stomach, up his ribs to explore his chest. 

Stiles’s hands were cupped over Derek’s face, thumbs brushing over his cheekbones like he was soothing him. 

He liked touching Stiles. His body was a fascination, all smooth and fair and lanky, marked with small scars, moles, and freckles, a whole life mapped out on his skin.

Then there was the mark on his chest, icy cold and smooth.

When Derek’s fingers grazed it, he froze, reminded of the curse Kate had cast on him; the one Stiles had taken in Derek’s stead. 

“It’s okay,” Stiles whispered. “She can’t hurt us.” 

_But she can. Don’t you know?_ Derek nodded instead of speaking the words, and kissed him again, lightly, stroking his fingers over the entire length of the mark. He knew it’d hurt when the curse had hit, because it had hurt him when he’d been cursed. It’d felt like his heart was being ripped out. 

He could only imagine what Stiles had felt when he’d been hit. 

“It doesn’t hurt now, right?” he asked, just to check. He kissed his jaw lightly, running his nose along his cheek. 

“No, not since I was in the hospital.” 

“You don’t think it could…activate at any point?” His heart started to race when Stiles was quiet for too long. “Right?”

“Lydia thinks that because Kate is dead, the curse might have a trigger,” he said reluctantly. “But it could also be inert and never activate at all.”

“Okay.” He rolled onto his back to stare at the ceiling and pretend to sleep. 

“Don’t stress over this, Derek,” Stiles begged. He inched closer, laying his hand on Derek’s chest lightly. “There’s nothing we can do about it now, anyway. And _if_ it activates-” _when_ , Derek thought, because it was always _when_ — “you are above a curse breaking office. Lydia won’t let me rot, and after your curse, this one couldn’t be too hard.” He smiled hesitantly. 

“Okay,” Derek said again. When Stiles sighed, he held his arms out and couldn’t help smiling when he burrowed in close and kissed his cheek. “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight.” His heart was already slowing, content and safe as he drifted off.

Derek was awake for a bit longer, and when he slept, Kate was there to list all the ways he could hurt Stiles just because of what he was, or how he would inevitably ruin their relationship. She was laughing.

 

Derek met Lydia’s boyfriend the next day. He stomped into the office like a petulant child and ignored Mikaela’s cheerful ‘hello’. 

Derek was on the couch reading about dragon curses, a stack of books on the cushion next to him.

“Is Stilinski around? He needs to come get this table out of the truck.” 

Derek set his book aside and stood up. “I can get it,” he offered. “Stiles is out and Lydia is with some clients right now.”

The guy’s eyes narrowed as he studied Derek; he shrugged and walked right back out.

“Wooooooow,” Mikaela said under her breath.

Derek snickered and followed the man out. Sometimes he forgot he was almost a decade older than Mikaela now. Once, she’d been the closest to his age and therefore his best friend and worst enemy, all at once.

“It’s in here,” the boyfriend—Derek wasn’t sure of his name—said, gesturing carelessly at a truck, in the bed of which stood a coffee console.

Derek reached up and pulled it toward the edge before lifting it off and setting it on the ground to adjust his grip.

“You’re Hale, aren’t you? Stilinski’s boyfriend?”

“Yes.”

Stiles didn’t talk about Lydia’s boyfriend, except in passing (the occasional, cheerful, “He hates my guts!”), but Derek knew the two didn’t get along, especially in high school.

“Thanks,” he said gruffly, stepping around him to go to the cab of the truck.

Derek shook his head and took the console inside, setting it against the empty wall. He could always move it later if Lydia and Stiles objected to the placement.

“What were you reading?” Mikaela asked, shuffling papers in front of her. She looked bored. 

“I was reading about dragon curses. Stiles wasn’t sure how to break them.”

“Did you find out?”

“Yeah. We need dragon fruit seeds, snapdragon petals, and blood from the Cursed, poured over something they’re obsessing over.”

“Wow, that’s about as subtle as Uncle Dom,” she said dryly. “A dragon curse needs dragon fruit and snapdragon flowers to break it.” She rolled her eyes. “What _is_ a dragon curse, anyway?”

“Uh, this book says it makes the Cursed become obsessed with a certain item and start hoarding it.”

“Wow.” She started rolling a pen between her fingers. “That’s not so bad. People do that anyway.”

“Not like this. Eventually, the Cursed stop eating and drinking, too busy collecting their hoard and guarding it. I guess it gets pretty bad.” 

“Hmm.” She perked up when the phone rang. “Martin and Stilinski, how may I help you?” She grimaced. “Oh, I’m so sorry. Well, sure, you can come in. They have an opening at one-thirty. No, they’re with another client right now.” Her face scrunched up. “One-thirty is open,” she said firmly. 

Derek lifted his eyebrows; she stuck her tongue out at him.

“Alright, see you then!” she said cheerfully and hung up. “Apparently, that guy killed his mother’s plants when he went to water them this morning, because she’s on vacation. And when he went home, both of his cats died when he touched them.” She wrote down his information as she spoke, her face twisting slightly.

“What, he’s not going to try to break it on his own first?” It seemed like they all tried for a while before finally asking for help.

“If I touched something and it died, I would not want to wait until I accidentally touched a person!”

He winced. “Right. I wonder what kind of curse _that_ is.”

“Poison touch,” Mikaela intoned, and snorted at herself a second later.

 

Paula Richardson arrived with an armful of mugs and her adult daughter at 11:32, looking bad tempered and twitchy. 

“Hi, you must be Mrs. Richardson,” Mikaela said brightly. “Miss Martin’s all ready for you, let me just take you back to her office.” 

As they passed the desk, Paula reached out to snatch Mikaela’s mug, her eyes wide and wild as she added it to her collection.

Her daughter plucked it off the pile and set it back on the desk with practiced, weary ease.

“Hello, Mrs. Richardson,” Lydia said. “Step right here, the paperwork is all ready for you.” Once they were both in her office, she glanced at Mikaela. “Can you tell Stiles the ingredients we need?”

“Yep.” Mikaela tapped her phone rapidly.

She looked at Derek next. “Let me know when he gets back?”

“Sure.”

“Thanks.”

Stiles had gone to get coffee—he hadn’t gotten much sleep—and, knowing him, pastries with it, so it wouldn’t be a problem to stop at the flower shop on the way back.

Derek settled on the couch again, this time with a different book. He was trying to figure out Stiles’s curse, but since he hadn’t shown any symptoms yet, he wasn’t sure what to look for. He only knew that Kate had been babbling about Derek taking an eternal nap. There were a lot of curses for sleeping.

“Hey. Got you a hot chocolate,” Stiles said, leaning over the arm of the couch to kiss Derek’s cheek and hand him a warm, paper to-go cup. “And a maple scone.”

“Thank you.” He turned his head so Stiles could reach his lips for a quick kiss. 

Stiles, being Stiles, slid over the arm of the couch to get closer, his long legs still dangling halfway over the arm when he made it.

“You’re going to spill your coffee,” Derek mumbled against his mouth. 

“Mmm, s’okay.” He nipped at Derek’s bottom lip; Derek thought it probably wouldn’t be okay if he spilled coffee all over the couch, so he took it and set it on the floor by his hot chocolate. 

He cupped his hand over the back of Stiles’s neck and drew him just that much closer.

“Ugh, guys, Lydia’s almost done with the Richardsons’ paperwork and making out on the couch isn’t very professional.”

Derek jerked back at the sound of Mikaela’s voice; the move unbalanced Stiles. He fell face first into Derek’s lap.

He yelped and jumped, and Stiles squawked in panic, rolling off the couch and landing hard on the floor.

Mikaela practically roared with laughter, gripping the edge of the desk to keep her balance. 

“Not funny,” Stiles said indignantly. He sat up, pulling his legs in and reaching for his cup. “Got you a lemon scone,” he added, holding up a small brown bag and grinning.

“Nothing embarrasses you, does it?” Mikaela asked, rounding the desk to take her pastry. “Thanks.”

“Are you kidding? I’m almost always embarrassed. It’s sort of like developing a callous, though. If I don’t do something embarrassing every hour or so, the day is wasted.” He sipped his coffee, resting his elbow on his knee.

Derek shook his head and picked up his own cup. “Lydia needs those flowers for the curse,” he said, clearing his throat. He nudged the bag in Stiles’s hand. 

“Oh, right.” He snickered, shaking the bag slightly. “About as subtle as I am.”

Mikaela started laughing again, spraying crumbs all over her desk. 

Stiles leaned over and looked Derek in the face for a second, smiled widely, and leaned away again. “I’ll be back in a sec.” He bounced off the couch, but Mikaela grabbed the bag from him.

She took the ingredients to Lydia, backing out quickly to the sound of Mrs. Richardson shouting angrily.

Stiles was standing up and wiping the coffee console down with some Pledge when Lydia led Mrs. Richardson and her daughter out; Mrs. Richardson looked embarrassed, carrying her mugs.

“I don’t normally…That is, I believe I’ve stolen most of these mugs,” she said, bemused. “Patience, write the check for Lydia, dear. I’m going to put these in the car while I try to remember where I got them from.” 

Patience muffled a snort and leaned over the desk to write the check.

“Thank you. I walked into her house yesterday to drop off some flowers and there were mugs _everywhere_. She smacked my hand when I tried putting them away.” She signed the check and tore it off, holding it out to Lydia. “Now I get to spend the day figuring out where she got all of them from. Bye, thanks again!” 

Derek put his hands in his pockets as she walked out, feeling awkward.

“You guys have an appointment at 1:30,” Mikaela said. “I wrote down what he told me.”

Lydia took the notepad she held out and checked it over. She clicked her tongue. “Who did he piss off?”

“He doesn’t know. He accidentally killed a houseplant and his cats, so he was pretty upset.” Mikaela leaned forward on her toes. “What kind of curse is it?”

“Death aura, but it’s been done improperly.” Lydia lifted a hand and rocked it back and forth. “It’s stronger than usual, but it’s concentrated to his touch. Possibly, the sorceress personalized it on purpose.” She set the notepad down and took out her phone. “Alright, Stiles, I’m going to go deposit this check into the business account. Can you get the flowers we need?”

“Sure.” He hesitated, then said, “Are we sending him to the spring or are we _taking_ him?”

“We’ll let him tell us what he’d prefer when he gets here.” She shrugged and checked the time. “For now, it’s almost lunch time, so after Stiles gets those flowers, we can go get something to eat.”

“I can go,” Derek said. “I owe you lunch anyway,” he added with a smile. “Everyone can write down what they want.”

“Cool,” Stiles said, glancing between them and smiling. “We can walk together for part of the way.”

“Good.” Lydia ripped a piece of paper off the notepad and wrote her request down, passing it to Mikaela when she was done.

Stiles held Derek’s hand on their walk, occasionally stopping to talk to someone he knew, all the while stroking his thumb between the knuckles of Derek’s first two fingers. 

“Well, see you later, Stiles. Nice to meet you, Derek.” 

“You too,” he said quickly, with a guilty glance toward Stiles. He couldn’t recall the guy’s name. 

“That was Danny,” Stiles said, squeezing his hand lightly. “I went to school with him.”

“Oh. Sorry,” Derek mumbled.

“That’s okay.” He smiled. “You do seem kind of overwhelmed, though. I can go get lunch and the flowers, if you want.”

“No, it’s okay. Say hi to Laura for me.” He hesitated, then, before he could chicken out, asked, “Do you want to go out to dinner tonight?”

Stiles smiled again, wider. “Sure. We’ll talk about where over lunch, okay?”

“Okay.”

He waved briefly as he went into the flower shop.

Derek smiled to himself and kept on down the street until he found the café/bakery they wanted their sandwiches from.

 

The death-aura guy—Tyler Franklin—asked to be driven to a spring, rather than driving himself. He was jumpy and kept his distance, cringing if anyone got within more than three feet of him.

“I’ll drive him. He can sit in the cargo part of the jeep, that way there’s no chance of a mistake,” Stiles said, picking up the armful of bluebells he’d gotten.

“Okay, if you want. Be careful,” Lydia advised, her eyes slightly narrowed. 

He waved cheerfully, pausing to kiss Derek on the way out.

“Don’t look so sad,” Lydia said. “He’ll be back. He thought you might want to play in the records room while he ran his errand.”

“He did?”

“Yes. Not that you have to. I can tell him to call you when he gets back, if you want to go somewhere.”

“Yeah, Der. Go visit Simon or Laura.” Mikaela grinned.

He grimaced. He hadn’t been avoiding his once-older siblings, exactly. He just…didn’t know how to act around them, now that he was older than them.

“Go,” Lydia said firmly. “We aren’t paying you to be here, so you can come and go as you like.” 

“Alright,” he muttered. “I’ll just…go visit Simon.”

He’d only been two years older than Derek, so it wasn’t as bad as being around Laura, drowning in guilt.

Dr. Morell told him it wasn’t his fault, but that feeling guilty was normal. He told her that nothing about this was normal.

They were working on it.

He shook himself and walked faster; he only slowed to admire the occasional Halloween decoration in shop windows.

 

The diner was mostly empty, probably the lull after the lunch rush, so Derek found his brother among the staff pretty easily.

It helped that Simon was mopping up a spill in the middle of the floor and dancing to the music playing over the speakers, causing the rest of the staff and customers to crack up laughing. 

“Hey, Der!” he called, dipping the mop quite romantically. “What’s wrong?”

“Your dancing, obviously,” Emily said. She was in a booth nearby, doing algebra in a workbook Talia had gotten for her.

All the younger kids were being sent with people to work where possible, to keep them from getting underfoot while the adults worked on getting fake documents.

“I resent that. I’m a great dancer.” He finished mopping quickly and approached. “You okay?” he asked seriously.

He looked… _young_. Which was so wrong. Simon used to look so _old_ to Derek; he’d started shaving at fifteen and generally had scruff through most of the day, but now that Derek could see his own 24-year-old face, scruffy and human, Simon looked painfully baby-faced in comparison.

“Yeah, I’m fine. I was just…craving a strawberry shake.”

Simon narrowed his eyes.

Derek sighed. “And Stiles went somewhere to help a guy break his curse and I’m worried.”

“Ah. Okay. Go sit with Em. I’ll go get that shake.”

He sat down across from Emily obediently. 

She looked at him skeptically. “Why are you worried about Stiles? He broke _our_ curse.” 

“Well, this curse…it’s different than ours—mine was. It’s just—me being worried, I guess.”

“Our curse,” Emily said, and picked up her pen. “Why couldn’t Simon get a job at a garage?” she muttered. 

“Because Simon likes food and fears the inner workings of cars,” Simon said, setting Derek’s shake on the table in front of him. “And because Uncle Ethan will have palpitations if you’re allowed near tools without Laini around for at least a couple more years, bug.” 

“Don’t call me bug!” she snapped.

Simon rolled his eyes at Derek and tapped his hands against the table. “So, how’s the curse business? Stiles seems to like it.”

“It’s good. I guess it’s picking up.” He sipped at his shake.

“Yeah, Peter’s been talking to people.” Simon grinned wickedly. “Mom told him he had to get out of the house if he wasn’t going to be useful, so he’s been walking around gathering info like the world’s least subtle spy.”

Emily huffed impatiently. “Trying to work here, guys.”

Simon lifted his hands. “Sorry. I’ll go wash a table or something.” He whacked her arm with a damp rag before he went, though, making her yelp.

He laughed and stooped over the next table.

“Who did you say that was, Simon?” one of the waitresses asked, thinking she was being quiet.

Derek concentrated on drinking his shake, his ears flushing.

“My little brother,” he replied easily.

“He’s _younger_ than you?” she squeaked.

“Huh? No! Ha.” Simon snorted. “I forgot.”

“Forgot what?”

“Hale curse,” another waitress grunted at her, clearly trying to be at least a little subtle.

“Oh! That’s Derek?” She sounded embarrassed. 

Emily kicked Derek under the table. “Eavesdropping is rude,” she said distractedly. “Check this for me. I can’t figure it out.” 

“ _I’m_ rude?” he muttered, but he glanced over the workbook she’d pushed across the table at him anyway. “Here, look, you did this wrong.” 

Derek managed to forget being worried for about an hour while he helped Emily do her algebra and listened to Simon crack stupid jokes and flirt with the customers.

“I should go,” he said, stretching his legs before standing.

“Why?” Emily looked up. “Oh, you wanna go hang around waiting for your boyfriend?” she simpered.

He scowled at her. “I’m actually going to see Laura.”

“At the flower shop? _Boring_.” She rested her chin on her hands. “Why doesn’t anyone have an interesting job?”

“Because we live to bore you, Emily, we live to bore you.” Simon popped her over the head gently with an order pad. 

“How much was the shake?” Derek asked. “I’m leaving.”

“It’s okay, I get a free one every shift. I’ll just have water.” He ruffled Derek’s hair and pinched the tip of his ear like he used to do when they were kids. “Be careful.”

“I will be. See you later.” 

Simon lifted his brows. “Will you? You coming home tonight?” He leaned against Emily’s seat, crossing his arms. “Maybe Laura and I should have a talk with Stiles, since you’re sleeping over there so much.”

“I’m older than you now,” Derek pointed out as he stood up. “Than both of you.” 

Simon snorted. “Like that matters.” He followed Derek to the door and took his arm gently before he could step out. “I just want to make sure you’re okay, Der. You kept things from us before and it hurt you.”

“It got all of you hurt, you mean,” he mumbled.

“See, it’d be easier to be mad about that if you didn’t reek of guilt all the time.” He sighed. “Except when Stiles is around.”

“He doesn’t—it’s not like with Kate.” Her name was like acid on his tongue. “He likes visiting the house and—he loves me,” he admitted quietly. “The curse wouldn’t have broken if he didn’t.” 

Simon’s brow furrowed. “But you know you don’t _owe_ him, right? Not…in that way.”

Emily scoffed loudly from across the diner. “Simon. Dude. Mikaela says he _smells_ every time Stiles is even mentioned.”

“That doesn’t mean anything.” Simon stared hard into Derek’s face. “Everything’s okay, right? That’s all I want to know.” 

“Yes, everything is okay.”

“Good. Love you, bro.” He hugged him hard and then shoved him. “Go see Laura.”

Derek left, feeling dazed. Everything _was_ okay, mostly. He didn’t feel the need to pay Stiles back by dating him; the idea hadn’t crossed his mind, which hopefully meant he wasn’t as ruined by Kate as he thought. 

Everything was also _not_ okay. Stiles was cursed, and his family had been denied eight years of their lives because of him. 

He found himself heading away—away from the diner, the flower shop, even the office. He just followed the sidewalk with his head ducked down, waiting for a blow that wasn’t coming.

A horn blipped beside him, making him jump.

“Hey, Derek. You okay?” Sheriff Stilinski asked, parking the cruiser at the curb.

“Yes. I was just taking a walk.” He looked around, disconcerted. He was nearing the park he used to go to with Casey and Lucy after school.

“Right. Stiles is on his way back. You want a ride anywhere?” he asked. His face was open, kind. It almost always was.

He’d been friendly when Stiles was in the hospital, unconscious, every time Derek had come to visit. He’d been a little stiff about them dating at first, but Derek suspected that was just awkwardness.

“Uh, no, thanks. I think I’ll just walk back.”

He hummed, nodding. “For someone with such a big family, you seem to be alone a lot.”

Derek winced. “I’m not…used to being around them anymore.” 

“Really? Sixteen years with them, eight without; seems like it’d be back to normal for you.” He shrugged. “Anyway, do you want company on the way back? Stiles would be overjoyed to learn I’d taken a walk today,” he said, rolling his eyes.

“Um, sure, okay,” Derek said, unable to find a polite way to refuse.

“Good.” Sheriff Stilinski moved the cruiser into a parking spot and jogged back looking cheerful. “It’s a nice day. Might rain later, though.” 

Derek tipped his head back, breathing in. “Maybe tomorrow.”

“That’ll work, too,” he said, unfazed. “So, how’s Isaac doing?” he asked as they started walking.

Derek smiled. “My mom has him studying to get his GED. Along with Erica and Boyd, actually.”

“They must love that,” he laughed.

“They’re actually pretty into it. They missed a bit. Boyd and Erica want to get jobs, too, but Mom wants them to focus on their studying at the moment.” He sighed and felt something loosen up in his chest. “They’re doing better with a real Alpha and a whole pack to stabilize them.” 

“Hey, kid, you did the best you could.” Sheriff Stilinski clasped Derek’s shoulder tightly. “And from what Stiles has said, that was pretty good.”

He smiled, his face flushing.

“Ah,” he said, smiling. “He said you two were going out to dinner tonight? Where are you going?”

“Oh, well, Stiles picked a restaurant, since everything’s been changed since I’ve been gone.” He smiled. “A steakhouse outside of town.”

Sheriff Stilinski scowled briefly, making Derek’s heart jerk with nerves. “Brat won’t let _me_ have steak and here he’s going to a steakhouse.” Then he remembered himself and smiled. “But it’ll be fun for you guys.”

Derek managed a weak smile in return. “I hope he’ll enjoy himself.”

“You both will,” he said firmly. “Ah, there it is.” He squinted at Lydia and Stiles’s building. “Makes me nervous, thinking about him alone up there.” The leading, light way he said it was not subtle at all.

“I stay over, um, sometimes.” 

“That’s good. You keep each other company. Well, you two have fun tonight.” He squeezed Derek’s shoulder again and turned to walk back.

Derek had no clue what’d just happened or why the sheriff had insisted on walking with him only to turn around and walk right back.

 

Later, after Stiles and Derek had finished dinner, and Derek had boxed the to-go meal he’d ordered, they decided to take a walk. Derek deposited the meal in the car before they went.

“Dad says he took a walk with you today,” Stiles said, squeezing Derek’s hand. “You’re popular with the Stilinski men today.”

Derek laughed a little. “Yeah, he saw me walking alone and kept me company.” 

“Ah.” Stiles turned to look at the Halloween Express store that opened every October. “Wanna go in?”

“Sure.”

As they stepped through the automatic doors, Stiles pulled his hand out of Derek’s, but before he could feel hurt by that, he’d slid his arm around Derek’s waist, pulling him closer so they were flush against each other’s sides. 

Stiles was maybe an inch or two taller than Derek, so when he leaned in, their cheeks pressed together briefly. He turned and brushed a casual kiss on Derek’s cheek.

The Halloween store turned Stiles into a child. He wanted _everything_. Derek felt almost guilty talking him out of the less practical decorations—“Stiles, what are you going to do with a fifty dollar cauldron for the rest of the year?”—but he knew that he would regret the purchases later. 

Stiles settled for cute, kid-friendly window stickers for the office, and red caution tape for his apartment door that read “ **Infection Zone** ”, which deeply amused him.

“Let’s get candy, too,” he decided before they got to the register.

“Do you need more sugar?” Derek asked doubtfully.

“Yes, of course I do.” He paused, looking at the costumes.

“You’re just coming to my house to watch movies with us,” Derek reminded him. He almost contradicted himself when Stiles continued to stare longingly at the costumes.

“No, you’re right.” He sighed and carted his armful of loot to the counter. 

Derek felt like he’d squashed all of his dreams. “You can always dress up to give out candy,” he offered weakly, guilt reaching up to strangle him. It was at least a familiar feeling.

Stiles waved his hand, taking his bag of purchases with the other. “Nah. I can save money this way and, besides, if I don’t dress up, I won’t have to worry about getting zombie face paint on you when I do this.” He pressed his palm to Derek’s cheek, turning his face so he could kiss him.

After a moment, the cashier said, “Stiles, don’t make me call your dad down here,” in a slightly exasperated voice.

“For what?” he demanded, indignant.

“Holding up my line, loitering-”

“Sorry, sir,” Derek said, hooking an arm around Stiles’s waist and towing him outside.

“I guess that was rude of me,” Stiles said thoughtfully. “I just can’t help it,” he said fondly, thumbing Derek’s cheek.

Derek ducked his head to hide the no-doubt goofy smile that came to his face.

Stiles made some sort of noise but didn’t comment. “So, are you staying over tonight?” he asked. “We can watch a movie, if you want.”

“I think I should go home tonight. I think Simon and Laura are worried about me. I’m sorry,” he said quickly, cringing. “I can-”

“It’s alright, Derek,” Stiles cut in. “It’s totally cool that you want to say with your family. I was just letting you know that you are also welcome to stay with me, too.” He spoke calmly, not frustrated or disappointed, which eased Derek’s nerves.

“Okay. Thanks.”

 

His family was happy to have him home for the evening, and he was happy to see them, too, he always was, but sometimes they were too much. They piled on him in the living room—this was normal, this is what they did—but soon, the scent of anxiety had them scrambling away, confused but obliging. Casey, his youngest sister, settled her new blanket over his shoulders and stepped back, watching his face avidly to see if it helped. 

Derek lasted until maybe three in the morning in his own, new bed, which reeked of guilt and regret already. 

He crept out of the house and jogged to Stiles’s apartment. He hesitated, but ultimately used his own key to get in. He’d brought his box from the restaurant, so he put that in the fridge and crept down the hall to nudge Stiles’s door open, just checking on him.

He was sprawled over the bed, one hand stretched out to the left side, his mouth wide open in sleep, his breathing even.

It sort of made Derek nervous that he hadn’t even noticed him coming in, but he comforted himself with the knowledge that he was a werewolf and therefore could move quieter than a human could hope to.

He couldn’t handle closeness at the moment—his skin felt raw, like a touch would make him bleed—so he pulled Stiles’s discarded jacket over his shoulders and slept on the couch, inhaling the content and happy scents that had sunk their way into the fabric.

 

When Derek woke up, he was alone—completely alone. The apartment was empty. There was a blanket covering him and a cup of water on the coffee table in front of him. There was also a note beside the cup.

_Went down to the office. Stay and chill as long as you want. Muffins in the kitchen and not much else. <3 Stiles_

He sat up and rubbed his face before taking a drink of the water. After he’d finished, he got up to brush his teeth. If he folded up the note and put it in his back pocket for safekeeping, there was no one around to see.

Stiles had gotten him a toothbrush after the sixth time he’d spent the night. He’d made Derek promise not to freak out—stating that it was just practical and not a hint or anything—and had held out a Disney’s _Beauty and the Beast_ toothbrush decorated with Belle, his eyes gleaming with amusement. 

Derek’s own laughter had surprised him, loud and barking, sort of like his father’s. 

He still didn’t feel like socializing—or anything else, and he knew Stiles would want to hold his hand, touch his back or his cheek; he wouldn’t, because he’d sense, in that way of his, that Derek didn’t want to be touched. But Derek would still feel guilty, because in normal relationships, people liked to be touched, they liked casual closeness and physical affection. It was even worse, because he mostly truly enjoyed it, too, the closeness, the easy kisses and brushing of hands. 

He just didn’t want that some days.

He thought it’d been easier before they’d been dating. He’d found it was as easy as being close to the small pack he’d made. 

Or maybe he’d been in denial back then and that was why he could handle it.

He ate one of the muffins Stiles had left out for him while he warmed up the eight ounce steak he’d gotten from the restaurant the night before.

Since his skin still felt itchy, though not as raw, he walked to the sheriff’s department without stopping to say hello to Stiles first; he knew it was rude, but he could see at least three strangers in the waiting room, so clearly Stiles was busy anyway.

Deputy Parrish greeted Derek when he got there. He was not sure how to act around him, so he mumbled a hello and asked if the sheriff was in.

“Oh, yeah, he’s in his office.” Parrish hesitated, then blurted, “How is Stiles?”

“He’s doing good—he’s busy today, so it must be going well, so I…oh.” Derek’s face flushed hot when he realized Parrish wasn’t asking about the business. “He’s good,” he repeated awkwardly.

Sheriff Stilinski stepped out of his office then. “Hey, Derek. You okay?”

He tried not to shuffle his feet. “Yes, sir. I just—brought you some lunch.” 

Derek swore if the sheriff were a wolf, his ears would’ve pricked up. As it was, he straightened his shoulders. “Thank you. Come on in.”

Uneasy, Derek followed him, stepping just far enough into his office that Sheriff Stilinski could shut the door.

“Here you go,” he mumbled, holding the container out.

“Thanks, Derek. That was really…” He trailed off as he opened the container. “I officially like you better than I like my own son.”

Derek laughed, finally losing the tension in his shoulders. “He probably won’t be happy about that, so enjoy it.” He sat down in the chair Sheriff Stilinski gestured to. 

“Oh, I will.” He sat down behind the desk. “How’s your day goin’, kid?” he asked.

“Um, well, okay.” He flushed with guilt. “I didn’t get a lot of sleep last night so my day is sort of just starting.” He looked down, expecting disapproval.

“Stiles mentioned you came in really late last night.”

Derek looked up in surprise. “He did? I mean—yeah, I did. I couldn’t—sleep,” he finished lamely.

“Stiles has trouble sleeping sometimes, too.” He studied Derek across his desk for a moment. “Do you feel better today?”

“Yes.” When he continued watching, Derek added, “I’m getting there. The walk here helped.”

“Good. You know if you’re feeling overwhelmed, Stiles is fine with you just staying holed up in the apartment.” He frowned. “You can always come to my place, too, if that’s too much. Stiles’s old room is still set up.”

Derek did not know what to say to that, so he nodded. “Thank you,” he added belatedly. He stood up, feeling awkward. “I think I’m going to go see my mom and dad.”

Sheriff Stilinski smiled. “Okay. Why don’t you take Stiles’s car?”

“I’ll be okay.” Derek put his hands in his pockets. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.” Before he could leave, though, he said, “Hey, Derek.”

He turned back. “Yeah?”

“Maybe invest in a sweater.”

Derek frowned, glancing at the sleeves of his jacket. “Um. Okay.”

“Let Stiles pick one for you. You’ll get it.”

“Alright.” He left still slightly puzzled, but also more settled than when he’d gotten there.

The only people at home were Derek’s parents and Uncle Ethan and Aunt Laini. The latter were laying down seeds for grass or something in the yard—possibly fertilizer or plant food or…something—which had gotten a bit charred due to the fire and Kate’s magical death. 

“Hey, Derek,” Laini said. She lifted her camera and grinned. “Get next to Ethan, okay? Gosh, I just can’t get over how grown up you look. Ethan! Put the bag down maybe?”

Ethan rolled his eyes and set down the bag he was holding. “How’s things, Der?” he asked casually.

Derek snickered a little when Laini impatiently snapped at him to stop talking.

“Stop looking so stiff,” she muttered. 

Derek hesitated, casting a glance at his uncle, then decided the hell with it—they were all close once and the only one who had changed was him—and threw his arm around Ethan’s shoulders, laughing when their heads knocked together. 

Ethan, without hesitation, flung his arm around Derek’s waist and pulled them even closer together, laughing with him.

Laini snapped about three pictures, a smile gracing her face. A week after the curse had been broken, she’d lopped off most of her long, bright red hair, claiming she wanted a fresh look. Derek still wasn’t quite used to it, but he liked it. She looked like a puckish sprite, just like Lucy. 

“Okay, all done. Thanks.”

“No problem.” Ethan ruffled Derek’s hair affectionately before releasing him.

Talia and Dominick were at the (new) dinner table; Dominick was going through an address book while Talia talked on the phone, tapping a purple pen on her notepad. 

Derek waited until Talia was off the phone before entering.

Sometimes, when the guilt was quiet, he was just swamped with relief and love, so happy to have them back that he could forget it was his fault in the first place. 

Talia held her arms out when he got close, so he hugged her, pressing his face into her neck and sighing, content.

Dominick got up and joined them, stroking his hand up and down Derek’s back. “You okay?” he asked.

“Yeah. I just wanted to see you guys.”

He heard his father sniffle quietly, pressing closer and resting his cheek on Derek’s head.

Talia kissed Derek’s cheek. “I’m glad.”

They held him until he let go, something they’d always done but he’d never appreciated.

“Do you guys need help with anything?” he asked.

Talia smiled. “Sure. Sit over here and help your dad find some numbers for me.”

“Okay.” He took the seat between his parents and dragged one of the address books closer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope that was okay! Kinda stressing over this chapter. I don't write Derek POV very often, but I couldn't help myself.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ugh gosh I'm still only on chapter eleven of this, I feel like I'm losing motivation, nooooooo. Gosh. I don't know why. ;-;
> 
> Side note, I finished all of Parks and Recs and that was also upsetting because I loved it so much. 
> 
> Anyway, let me know what you guys think!! :D

Since Stiles’s apartment was maybe six feet bigger than the Hales’ old kitchen, he’d cooked the tacos well before his guests arrived. Halloween Eve was totally a thing and to celebrate, he was having tacos, horror movies, and friends. 

Since Scott wanted to spend the day with Melissa, he wasn’t there, but at least Stiles had Boyd, Erica, Isaac, and Derek.

It was nice, having the four of them over, like old times. 

“We brought ice cream!” Erica shouted as they tumbled through the door.

“You should knock first,” Derek said despairingly. 

“Why? You have a key.”

“Because barging into someone’s house is _rude_ ,” Boyd pointed out as he flopped onto the couch, perfectly at home.

Derek snorted. 

“Come get a plate!” Stiles called. “Put the ice cream in the freezer for later.”

Isaac entered the kitchen first, leaning up against Stiles’s side. “Erica got _mint_ ice cream,” he said mournfully.

Stiles laughed and patted his shoulder. “Luckily, I also have chocolate chip and strawberry in the freezer.” 

Isaac brightened considerably. 

“Make your plate,” Stiles instructed. “We’ll have to eat in the living room, the table barely seats three.” 

Erica and Boyd joined in for a quick group hug before getting their food and letting Derek through.

He did his Derek Thing and waited for Stiles to kiss him before he put his arms around his waist. 

“Thanks for having us,” he mumbled against Stiles’s mouth. 

“No problem. Thanks for keeping me company.” 

“Umm….” Derek trailed off, distracted, before setting his hands on Stiles’s shoulders and leaning back, blinking. “Ethan sent over some chips with salsa and queso, too. He thinks it’s a sin to have tacos without them.”

Stiles laughed and rubbed his hands together. “Yes! My plan worked!” 

Derek looked puzzled.

“Ethan’s salsa is basically perfect, Derek,” Boyd explained. “Like, I would trade my soul for a year’s supply.”

Erica laughed and shoved him over so she could reach the cheese for her tacos.

“It’s not _that_ good,” Derek mumbled.

“Yes it is. Don’t speak blasphemy in my kitchen.” Stiles snickered. “I’ll have to take you to La Loma some time so you can see the difference in salsa made by Ethan and salsa by that white guy who didn’t realize he called his restaurant _The Knoll_ until Lydia told him.”

Isaac seemed done with the conversation, because he asked, “What’re we watching first?” and left the kitchen. 

“Zootopia. They put it on Netflix and I am so excited about it.” Stiles made himself a plate, watching as Derek wandered the hall, looking at the pictures he’d finally gotten hanging.

“They look good.”

“Thanks!” He nudged him slightly. “Here, I made your plate with no sour cream.” He held the plate out to Derek, who smiled. 

“Thanks.”

They sat clustered around the ring-stained coffee table Stiles had found at a yard sale in August. 

Boyd sat to Stiles’s left, Derek on his right, and the rest crowded around from there. 

Isaac pressed play and leaned back, picking at his plate.

 

Stiles wasn’t surprised when his bed was commandeered a few hours later, Derek, Erica, and Boyd piling into it bloated with ice cream and Halloween candy. 

“Tired?” Stiles asked, nudging Isaac as they loaded up the dishwasher.

“Not yet. Are you?”

“Nope. C’mon, let’s go watch _Underworld_ or something.”

“Okay.” Isaac put the last bowl in and closed the dishwasher, following Stiles to the living room. “Thanks for letting us come over.”

“No problem. I missed you guys,” he added cheerfully, throwing his arm over Isaac’s shoulders companionably. “I got used to hanging out, just us.” 

Isaac nodded and slipped away onto the couch. “Is Scott coming over tomorrow?” he asked, rubbing one socked foot over the hardwood.

“Yep. He wanted to spend time with his mom today, but he’s gonna chill with us tomorrow for scary movies.” Stiles actually couldn’t wait for that, because the whole Hale pack adored Scott and it was _charming._

It was hilarious, too, because they adored Stiles, but they flocked to Scott almost like they didn’t even understand why.

He wasn’t surprised; animals were drawn to Scott and from what he’d learned about werewolves, it seemed they were a seamless blend of both man and wolf, so it made sense. 

“Good.” 

“So, _Underworld_?” 

“Yes. Um, but maybe we shouldn’t watch that tomorrow.” When Stiles looked at him, puzzled, he elaborated, “The, ah, _lycans_ are sort of a bad image for the younger guys.”

“Ohh, right.” Stiles, smiling to himself, played the movie and got up on the couch. “Look at you, being big brother.”

Isaac’s face flushed bright red. “Um, Talia says we’re all—pack brothers and sisters.” 

Stiles smiled again and rested his feet up against Isaac’s leg. “Well, I think that’s great.”

“I like it,” he mumbled. “It’s fun.” 

“Good.” 

Isaac smiled and looked back at the TV, so Stiles focused on the movie, too.

Outside, a car backfired, making Isaac jump hard, ducking his head between his shoulders like he was expecting to get hit. 

Stiles nudged his leg. “You okay?”

“Yeah.” He shrugged, eyes trained on the TV. 

“Okay…”

“You’re working until four tomorrow, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Can we come?”

He looked at him in surprise. “Sure, if you want.” He put his head back against the arm of the couch.

 

It was surprisingly easy to get ready for work the next morning, considering everyone was still passed out. He left a note for them and went to get coffee before Lydia arrived. 

Halloween in Beacon Hills was always interesting. The witches liked to do fun magic, so Stiles wasn’t surprised to walk into Scents of Humor and find Lexa Paulson doing the finishing touches of a spell that sent fog slithering through the room at knee height in various shapes, such as bats, rats, gigantic spiders, and hissing cats. 

“What?” she asked when Stiles lifted his brows.

She and Stiles got along a lot better now that she’d stopped being jealous of everyone that hung around Lydia and had started dating Heather. 

When she wasn’t perpetually irritated by the sight of him, it turned out they got along pretty well. 

“What will you say to the out-of-towners?” he asked, shuddering when a fog-rat scampered over his shoe. 

“That it’s a fog machine and a projector.” She put her hands on her hips to survey the effect. She waggled her fingers. “What do you say I add a very creepy ghost?”

“We want kids to come _in_ , Lex,” Carly, Lexa’s best friend and the cashier, scolded as she brought fresh carafes of milk out to the counter.

“Every kid loves a good scare.”

“I hate those spooky ghosts your mom used to do, so if that’s what you’ve got in mind, you can forget it.” Carly offered a bright, customer-cheerful smile to Stiles. “Good morning. What can I get you?”

“He wants coffee and papaya bread.”

“I do?”

“You do.” Lexa nodded firmly. “Get some. I’m going now, Carly. I’ve got to put my costume on and go help Heather decorate.” 

“Okay! Bye! Thank you!” Carly waved as she rounded the counter. “What can I get you?”

“How much of that papaya bread do you have?” he asked, eyeing it. It looked good.

Lydia was unlocking the doors when he got back. Peter pulled in beside him.

“Just on time. Here, help me with these.” 

“Is one for me?” he asked shrewdly. 

“There is a piping hot white mocha with your name on it, promise. Also, a pastry.”

“Smells good, thank you,” Peter said, as if he hadn’t basically said he wouldn’t help if he didn’t get anything out of it. Which was Peter’s normal reaction to work anyway. He helpfully took some of the drinks—Stiles had gotten some for the sleepy pack of wolves in his apartment, so there were plenty—and closed the car door for him. 

“Good morning,” Lydia greeted, holding the door open. “We’re only open until four today, but I suspect we’ll be busy. Halloween has historically been a busy day for sorceresses, so why not for us?” she added. 

“We should do a discount,” Stiles chirped, because why not?

“No, no you shouldn’t.” Peter set the drinks he was carrying on his desk. “Next year, sure, but you’re still trying to stay afloat. When you’ve got steady business, then you can think about discounts.”

Rather than agree with Peter, Lydia looked at the bag of pastries Stiles had set down. “What did you get?” she asked politely.

“Papaya bread and assorted muffins if you don’t want to try the bread.”

“Mm, I think I’ll take the bread. Thank you, Stiles.” She picked out the bread and looked around at Peter. “I doubt people will bother making appointments today.”

“But I’ll be here to answer the phone in case they do,” he said cheerfully, taking a piece of the papaya bread out and grinning. 

“Stiles, could you come with me to my office for a second?”

Bemused, he followed her into her office. When she closed the door, he lifted his brows. “You know he can still hear us, right?”

The glare she shot him had him holding up his hands in surrender. “I wanted to talk to you about something.” She crossed the office to sit behind her desk. “Do you know who Cira Villafuerte is?”

Stiles exhaled noisily. He’d been expecting to get lectured about Peter or something. “Um, maybe. Long term curse, maybe like fifteen years?”

“Yes. She’s been cursed her whole life.” Lydia tapped her fingers. “I want to go meet her. To see if we can break her curse.”

Stiles nodded. “I understand. But, uh, what if it’s something—what if the answer is like…Derek’s curse?”

“Then we find a way. Luckily, Cira’s curse doesn’t trap visitors, only her. So we can have people at her house,” she added. 

“Right. Let her meet people, make friends, see if that helps.” Stiles liked the idea. “Who cursed her?”

Lydia flicked a glance at the notebook on her desk. “Ethel Lestat, 68. She cursed her when she was two weeks old because her mother trespassed on Ethel’s property one night.”

“I wish there was something legal we could do about curses,” Stiles muttered. 

“Your father would have to put something down for the charges.”

“I wonder if it would count as assault,” he mused. 

“I wish.” She shook her head. “But it could cost your father his job, should they try to bring in a lawyer from outside of Beacon Hills.” She waved her hands. “Anyway, my point—do you want to come with me tomorrow at eleven to interview Cira? I think we can break her curse, if we try hard enough.”

“Yeah. It took weeks to break the Hale curse, we can give her at least that much time.”

Lydia smiled. “Great. Thanks.” 

“No problem. It could be fun,” he added, grinning. 

 

The werewolves emerged about fifteen minutes later, clamoring for the coffee and baked goods they could smell. Luckily, they all stuck around and were able to go run for ingredients Stiles and Lydia needed for the first two clients (one had been transformed into a talking goose (which was the _creepiest_ thing ever, cartoons lied) and the other one was mutated to have three extra arms that didn’t even function properly). 

They did steady business all day, and at three-thirty they handled their last curse, which was a lost voice curse. It seemed kind of Disney-ish until Lydia and Stiles realized the voice was literally _lost_ and had to be _found_. 

“That was weird,” Stiles decided after they had found it, in the form of a glowing blue orb outside of the Walmart. 

The pack had gone upstairs to get ready to go to the Hale house once the client had paid and left, so it was just Lydia, Peter, and Stiles in the office. 

“It was an old curse,” Lydia agreed, stepping into her office and grabbing her things.

In the front, Peter greeted someone as the bell chimed for the door. 

“Peter, the woman with the voice was supposed to be last-” Lydia started, irritated, but she stopped at the sight of the client.

“Please help me,” he said stiffly. 

There were bats hanging from his clothes, one crawling up his shoulder toward his face.

Stiles pressed a hand over his mouth, trying not to laugh. “Bat magnetism,” he said, his voice trembling a little. “It’s a—a newer twist on a…” He looked at Lydia for help, his eyes tearing up as he clamped his teeth on his tongue.

“It’s a twist on a faery blessing. The curse isn’t really harmful,” she explained. 

The man let out a little “ _tch!_ ” of disbelief, causing one of the bats to squeak and cling tighter. 

Stiles pressed his knuckles against his lips. It was probably rude to laugh at a potential client. 

“Stiles, we probably-” Lydia shook her head. “We just need to keep the bats away. It should wear off on its own in a few hours.” 

“Seriously? I have a party to go to! You can’t break it?”

Lydia’s eyes narrowed. “Of course we can,” she said pleasantly. “Please have a seat. Peter, could you prop the door open, please?”

Peter, obviously sensing Lydia’s wrath, got up and crossed the room with a little bounce to his step. 

“We need some basil, cherry, and willow.” 

“Should I go get that?” Stiles asked.

Lydia smiled a cat’s smile. “Yes. You do that while I go over cost with our new client.”

Stiles nodded and made a quick exit, snickering a little. 

When they’d closed for the day—the bats flew right out in a panic once the curse was broken—Lydia left to get ready for the party she and Jackson were going to later that night, and Peter took off right after her.

Stiles met Derek and the others by his jeep, where they were waiting anxiously to get going.

“Okay, do we have everything?”

“I have the movies,” Erica said. “Um, and so does Boyd.” She gave Stiles a weird look. “Why do you have so many horror movies?”

“Because I like them.” He stuck his tongue out at her before turning to Derek. “Hey.”

He smiled. “Hi.” A frown flickered over his face. “Do I smell bats?”

“Oh, yeah…” He quickly explained the bat magnetism guy, snickering as he did. 

Isaac shifted the bags of candy in his arms. “Did you—no one got bit, did they?’

“No,” Stiles said with a quick smile. “The bats were mostly confused. The curse was probably cast by a teenager as a prank.”

“Oh. Good.”

“Are we ready to go now?” Erica asked impatiently. 

“Sure, go ahead and get in.” Stiles leaned up and kissed Derek quickly before rounding to the driver’s side. 

Melissa and Scott were already at the Hale house when they arrived

Scott opened the front door with Lucy and Casey on either side of him, tugging his arms; Cora and Emily were trailing behind them.

“Charming the family, I see,” Stiles teased. 

Scott just shrugged. “Did you bring _The Collector_?” he asked.

“And _The Collection_. Come on, let’s add this candy to the bowl.”

Snacks were laid out across the table in the dining room in large serving bowls; popcorn, chips, candy, pretzels, and more, along with various beverages and paper cups.

“Hi, Stiles!” various voices called from throughout the house.

“Hey!”

“Lucy, you have to get dressed or you can’t go trick-or-treating!” Laini called.

Lucy, who had climbed onto Scott’s back, sighed heavily and slid off, pouting as she ran off to her room. 

Dominick poked his head out of the kitchen. “Casey, you should get dressed, too. Do you need help?”

She looked at Derek pleadingly and said, “Noooo.” 

Derek snorted a little. “I can help you.”

“Thanks.”

He leaned in, so Stiles tilted his head to accept the kiss before he left. 

“Are you guys dressing up?” Scott asked Cora and Emily. 

Emily wrinkled her nose. “I want to stay and watch the scary movies,” she said carefully.

Cora shrugged. “ _I’m_ dressing up and getting candy. I’m going as the goddess Artemis.” 

“Wow, very nice,” Stiles said, holding a hand up for a high-five.

She looked pleased and flustered, slapping her palm against his obligingly. 

“Mikaela’s going, too,” Emily sniffed. “She’s dressing as a vampire.”

Isaac let out a little snort; Stiles was tempted to laugh, too, but thought it would be mean.

“Good for her,” he decided. “Are Laura and Simon dressing up?”

Cora rolled her eyes. “No, they’re staying here to watch the movies.”

“Who’s taking you guys?” Stiles asked. He turned to take a bag of candy from Isaac, ripping it open.

Erica and Boyd took that as their cue, leaving to deposit the movies in the living room. 

“Aunt Laini. She wants to take a bunch of pictures. Lucy is dressing like a lab bunny and Casey is going as a vampire hunter.”

Stiles frowned—what the hell is a lab bunny?—but he didn’t get a chance to ask before Cora left to get dressed 

Talia entered the room with Ethan, arguing about who was going to be handing out candy. “I am awkward around strange children, Ethan!” Talia snapped. “I don’t know how to act around them!” 

“You have five kids!” Ethan protested.

“But let’s face the facts here, Eth, I barely knew what I was doing with them.” She pinched his nose. “Big sister’s prerogative. You’re on candy duty.” 

“No, let’s put Peter on candy duty, that’s what little brothers are for.” 

“Oh.” She grinned. “Okay. Good idea.” She looked around him. “Hello, Stiles, guys. Thanks for bringing over the movies.” 

“Sure!” He grabbed a Reese’s out of the bowl he’d filled. “I’m ready when you are.”

“We just need to let Laini get the kids out of the house before we start them. Lucy has nightmares,” Ethan admitted. “She’s fine with scary costumes but the movie noises freak her out.”

“Ah.”

Isaac leaned in when Talia opened her arms for a hug, so relaxed that Stiles couldn’t help but smile. 

Scott grinned at him. “Mom’s with Dom in the kitchen. They’re making about eighteen tons of popcorn.”

Laura, passing behind Ethan, popped a hand over his head. “Not quite that much.”

“You’ll never eat it all,” Scott predicted. “There’s no way.”

“Watch and learn, little human.” 

They all hung out in the dining area while the kids got ready for trick-or-treating. 

“Okay,” Laini called. “Get ready, let’s do a little fashion show.”

Talia started clapping, and everyone else fell in; Melissa slid her way through the crowd to toss an arm around Stiles and Scott’s necks for a hug each. 

Laini jogged down the stairs. She was wearing a long purple skirt with sparkles scattered at the hem and a tight black shirt, her camera resting against her chest. “Okay, okay, let’s see our vampire!” she called. She grinned over at Ethan. “You made fun of her choice of costume, right?” she asked. 

“Vampires, Lane. Vampires.” He shook his head. “There’s no way this isn’t going to be…uh…” He winced. “Sorry, Mik.”

Mikaela called, “Oh, don’t worry, Dad, it’s fine.” She came skipping down the stairs. 

“Oh,” Ethan said, and started laughing.

She was wearing ripped jeans and a white t-shirt stained and spattered with blood; her face was smeared with it, too, all down her cheeks and neck. She’d attached thin, fake fangs onto her canines, which Stiles thought was funny because there was no world in which a werewolf wearing plastic fangs _wasn’t_ funny. 

“I have eaten my words,” Ethan said, holding his hands up. “Sorry.”

“Good.” Mikaela pulled a little rubber “blood bag” out of her back pocket. “Look what we found at Party City.” 

“Nice!” 

“You didn’t kill anything, did you?” Melissa asked warily.

“No!” Mikaela laughed hysterically. “No, it’s just fake blood.” 

“Up next—Casey!” Laini called after snapping a few pictures of Mikaela posing with her fangs bared. 

Casey came downstairs next, clad in black leggings and a brown leather jacket, holding a rubber stake, with Derek coming down behind her. “Oh, look, my first victim.” She lunged at Mikaela playfully, making her shriek with laughter and jump back. 

“Okay, a few pictures, separately first, then I’ll get you two together.” After she’d snapped a few more pictures, she called up for Cora. 

Cora’s outfit was pretty awesome, complete with a bow and quiver and tall boots. 

Derek leaned against Stiles’s side to watch them get their pictures taken. “You should see Lucy,” he said, grinning. 

“What is a lab bunny?” he asked, and Derek laughed, turning his head to kiss Stiles’s cheek. He didn’t even pause first. Stiles couldn’t wipe the grin off his face if he tried. 

“Lucy! Come on down, sweetie!” 

A lab bunny costume turned out to be a bedraggled bunny outfit, complete with tattered ears and chipped, bloodstained rabbit teeth, and downright creepy make up. She looked positively thrilled when everyone gaped at her. 

“Auntie Talia helped me come up with the idea,” Lucy proclaimed with a big grin. 

Dominick high fived Talia, laughing at the look on Ethan’s face. 

They all found a place to sit or sprawl in the living room, once the costumed kids and Laini had left. They cued up the first movie ( _The Collector_ ) and got settled with snacks, picking spots throughout the room and chattering as they did. 

Stiles was sitting back against the couch with Derek leaning against his legs; Laura and Simon were both squished as close as they could get on the couch behind them. Stiles could feel Laura’s breath on the back of his neck. 

Scott was on the floor with Erica, Boyd, Isaac, and Emily sort of strewn around him, trying to get close without smothering him or being weird. 

“No talking,” Emily announced loudly before pressing play with the remote. 

Derek shifted a little every few minutes, until he was all but laying with his head propped on Stiles’s feet. 

Stiles carefully stretched his legs out without looking away from the movie, until Derek could rest his head against his thigh. 

Derek let out a soft sigh and rubbed his cheek against the denim before relaxing; he reached across Stiles’s leg to get at the candy bowl they’d taken. 

The doorbell rang with tons of trick-or-treaters throughout the movie, prompting many sighs and glowers in Peter’s direction. 

Word had spread about the fire and the curse, and everyone in Beacon Hills was curious to see the house and the Hales themselves. Halloween had given them the perfect excuse. 

Peter gave up trying to enjoy the movie and just went to sit on the front porch with the candy bowls so the rest didn’t have to hear the doorbell.

Three movies in, Talia called for intermission since Laini, Cora, Mikaela, Casey, and Lucy had returned. 

Stiles scratched his fingers through Derek’s hair gently, checking if he was awake. 

He turned to smile. “Thanks.”

“No problem.” 

“Melissa,” Peter called, poking his head into the living room. “Could I talk to you outside for a moment?”

Melissa looked up from her phone. “Um, alright, sure.” She looked at Scott and Stiles, puzzled, before following him.

Derek sat up, brows furrowed. “He said it’s about Scott…” 

Scott frowned, too. “Did I do something wrong?”

“No,” Laura said, kicking Simon so he’d move his legs. “Probably Peter just being weird.” 

Scott still looked worried, and Stiles was a little freaked out, too. Scott barely ever interacted with Peter, so Stiles couldn’t imagine why he wanted to talk to Melissa about him. 

Well, Melissa would rip out his still-beating heart with her bare hands if he meant any harm, so Stiles figured it was nothing to worry about. 

They came back in moments later anyway, looking okay, maybe a little puzzled. Well, Peter looked puzzled. Melissa looked blank. 

“Okay, Mikaela has them in her room watching movies more to Lucy’s tastes,” Talia said, stepping over Dominick’s legs to get back to her spot.

“Everyone good?” Emily asked, holding the remote and leaning forward eagerly. 

“Yep, go on.”

Derek moved so he was sitting beside Stiles, leaning his head on his shoulder. He seemed groggy, so Stiles thought he’d probably been drifting off before their break. 

Scott moved over, too, so he could sit on Stiles’s other side. “Wanna hang out tomorrow? I’m leaving tomorrow night,” he whispered. 

Erica rolled over so she could stretch her leg out and brace her foot against Scott’s leg. 

“Sure. But I’ve got to help Lydia with something first.”

Scott nodded and grinned at him.

In his sleep—and he _was_ sleeping—Derek grumbled and shifted a little closer, one arm sort of flopping over Stiles’s stomach.

Stiles wasn’t fooled. Just like his siblings and cousins, he was trying to get closer to Scott. He smiled, laughing a little and pressing a quick kiss to the top of Derek’s head. He flushed when Simon laughed from behind him.

 

“Are you staying the night?” Talia asked around eleven pm while everyone was shuffling to their rooms. “We have space.”

“Oh, I can’t,” Melissa said apologetically. “I have to work in the morning, but thanks.” 

“No problem. Thank you all for coming.” Talia hummed. 

Ethan jostled her slightly and said, “We could do Thanksgiving here, too, if you’re interested.”

Melissa’s face brightened. “That would be great, actually!”

“Perfect.” 

Stiles zipped his jacket up while the three of them discussed it, locating his shoes in the pile.

Derek was sort of draped over his back like a warm, cuddly moss, deeply affectionate in his sugar coma. He’d eaten most of the candy in the bowl during the movies, in between drifting off. 

“Are you coming home with me?” Stiles asked, amused.

“Mmmhmmm, please,” he hummed, rubbing his face over the back of his shoulder. 

“Okay. Don’t fall, I’m going to put my shoes on.”

Scott was amused by them, too. “Do you mind if I stay over, too?” he asked tentatively. “Say so if I’m in the way.”

Derek shook his head. “Not in the way,” he mumbled. 

“You can come over,” Stiles said as he straightened up. “It’ll be fun.” He gently pulled Derek’s arm until they were standing side by side, his arm around Derek’s waist. 

“We’re going now, Mom!” Scott called in a somewhat low voice. 

Talia came to pass out hugs and bags of leftovers Ethan had put together for them.

She took Derek’s face in her hands for a moment, until he focused on her and smiled. “Have a good night. I love you.”

His smile turned shy. “I love you, too, Mom.”

Her eyes looked a little shiny as she backed off, but once she said goodnight to them again, they looked normal. 

“So, what’re you helping Lydia with tomorrow?” Scott asked as they left the house, rounding the corner to the driveway. 

“There’s a girl with a long-term curse that we want to talk to. Cira Villafuerte? We’re going to try to break her curse.”

Scott nodded. “That’s great! Do you guys need any help?”

“Uh, no, not right away. We don’t want to overwhelm her. She’s been cursed her whole life, so she’s never left her house.” Stiles rubbed his face and unlocked the jeep so Derek could climb in the backseat while they talked beside the car.

“Right. I wonder what kind of curse it is.”

“Probably just a really powerful containment curse,” Stiles mumbled.

Scott glanced into the car. “Is he okay?”

“I think he’s just tired and had way too much candy.” Stiles grinned into the window at Derek, who seemed to have passed out, then jumped when he turned back to Scott. 

Scott sighed and patted the doe who’d crept out of the woods to nudge at his shoulder. “You’re brave. This place must smell of werewolves,” he said, as if she could understand him. 

She simply blinked languidly and leaned into his touch.

Stiles saw movement from the house out of the corner of his eye and turned to look, half expecting a family of deer. 

Peter and Melissa were watching; Melissa looked nervous, but Peter seemed fascinated. 

“Goodnight!” Stiles called.

The doe shifted anxiously until Scott started murmuring soothingly to her. 

“Goodnight, boys. Be careful with the wild animals,” Melissa said dryly. 

“We will. Come on, Scott,” Stiles said, elbowing him. 

Scott patted the doe and walked to hug his mother; the doe followed him.

Stiles rolled his eyes and got in the jeep, starting it so the engine could warm up while they waited. 

“You okay, Der?” Stiles asked, looking over his shoulder.

“Yeah. Just tired.” Derek leaned up through the seats to rest his chin on Stiles’s shoulder for a second.

They were quiet on the drive home, mostly because Derek had conked out hard. 

In the apartment, Stiles and Scott went to the kitchen while Derek flopped on the couch.

“After you’re done with Lydia, we can go to a movie or something. Derek should come with.”

Stiles shrugged. “Maybe. Or we could come back here and play video games until you have to go…”

Scott grinned. “Better,” he agreed. “We’ll do that.”

“Now, I’m gonna go to bed before it gets too late, because I’m going to hate myself at seven tomorrow.”

“ _Seven?_ ” Scott grimaced. “Good luck, man. I’ll get my blankets and stuff, I know where they are.”

“Cool. G’night.” 

“’Night.”

Stiles poked Derek’s ribs gently. “You wanna come to bed?” he asked, stroking fingers over his hair. 

He lifted his face from the cushions. “Yes. Sorry.”

“For what?” He smiled and held his hand out. “You’re tired. That’s allowed.”

“Not fun,” he mumbled, but he was letting Stiles tow him to the bedroom by hand, so he was probably still mostly asleep. “I didn’t think I was this tired,” he said, shaking his head a little. “I think it was just…”

“Hmm?” Stiles smiled again and only let go when they got to the bedroom, so he could change into pajamas. 

Derek was awake enough to change into his own pajamas, which was good because his jeans and t-shirt weren’t going to protect him from the cold that permeated Stiles’s room at night. “I think it was just that everyone was all together and—all the nights I haven’t been able to sleep, I guess it just caught up with me.” He pulled on his sweatpants and sweatshirt and sat on the edge of the bed.

“That’s okay, I get it.” 

“Could you-” Derek started, but he didn’t finish. “Never mind.” 

Stiles frowned at him. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s nothing. I’m fine.” He fiddled with a loose thread on the comforter, avoiding Stiles’s gaze.

Stiles crossed the room and, after searching Derek’s face carefully for his Do Not Touch signals, cupped his cheeks. “Hey, so, I haven’t actually told you this, not like, straight out, so I think maybe now is a good time. I,” he said, kissing Derek’s mouth, “love,” another kiss, “you.” He felt Derek’s face heat under his hands and smiled. “Could I—what?”

“Just stay close,” Derek said on an exhale, closing his eyes. “Please, just…could you just hold me?”

Stiles’s smile flashed fresh. “Of course. I’m an expert cuddler.”

Tension bled from Derek’s shoulders. “Thank you.” 

Stiles laughed a little, confused. “Why? Wait, no—I meant, don’t thank me,” he said, shaking his head. He nudged Derek a little. “Lay down, come on. Under the cover.” 

Once they were both laying down, Stiles got his arms around Derek and kissed the back of his neck before closing his eyes. 

“Goodnight,” he said quietly.

Derek squeezed his hand. “Goodnight.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank for your comments! They make me so happy and give me motivation to continue writing this! I still have a lot to do for this one, and the third one too, so me feeling sluggish about it is bad. Coffee helps. Comments too. :D Anyway!! Enjoy this chapter! I quite like it!
> 
> I can't seem to help how long all the chapters are in this one, so if that's a bad thing, I'm so sorry. D: Please enjoy!!!

Cira Villafuerte lived in the same house she’d been cursed in. Her parents had moved out and away years ago, leaving Cira with her grandmother. Stiles wanted to know the story there.

Ms. Villafuerte opened the door when they rang the bell, pushing her curly black hair behind her shoulders. “Come in,” she said. “I cannot tell you how much I appreciate you coming. To even try means so much to me—to us.” 

“We’re happy to help, Ms. Villafuerte,” Lydia said graciously as they stepped in with her.

“Please, call me Melinda.” She stepped into a carpeted living room. “Let me take your coats. Have some hot chocolate, it’s cold outside.” 

“Thank you.” 

The coffee table had steaming mugs on coasters; not wanting to be rude, Stiles accepted one after passing over his jacket. 

“What do you need to know?” Melinda asked, taking a seat on the couch. 

Lydia sat on one of the chairs, so Stiles took the one on the opposite end of the room. “We’d like to speak to Cira, too, if you don’t mind. But if you’d rather answer as many questions as you can without getting her, that would work.”

“Yes, I’d prefer that, then, please.” She cast a look over her shoulder toward the hallway, sighing a little. 

“Okay.” Lydia pulled a yellow legal pad out of her purse and twisted her pen. 

Stiles could see a list of questions written out neatly, almost like the form Peter wanted to have in the office for clients to fill out before seeing them.

“Okay, what specifics do you know about the curse? Is Cira trapped in the house or on the property?”

“The house,” Melinda replied promptly. “She can’t go past the front or back porch.” 

“And what other symptoms of the curse have shown up? It’s just trapped her here?”

Melinda grimaced. “I don’t really know how much is just Cira and how much is the curse, since she’s been cursed her entire life. You see, she doesn’t…” She sighed again and rubbed her face tiredly. “I talk to her sometimes, you know, when I want to try things to break the curse—anyone who’s lived in Beacon Hills long enough can try to break their curses on their own,” she added with a quick, apologetic smile. “She doesn’t like talking about trying to break it,” she admitted in a rush.

Lydia paused, her pen tip hovering over the paper. 

“That doesn’t mean she doesn’t want to break the curse,” Stiles said quickly. “She might just—maybe she doesn’t have hope that it can get broken, so she doesn’t want to talk about it.” 

Melinda nodded, but she didn’t look hopeful. “You’ll just have to see for yourself,” she murmured. She cleared her throat.

“So, possibly the curse has…made her lose hope?” Lydia asked, underlining something.

“I don’t know if that’s…what it is,” Melinda said. She twisted the assortment of rings on her fingers. “Aside from that, there’s her hair…”

“Her hair?” Lydia repeated, looking up. 

She sighed deeply. “You should come see for yourselves.” She stood and beckoned them. “Cira,” she called as she led the way down the hall, “the company I told you about is here.”

A door decorated with various swaths of fabric and posters swung open, only wide enough to reveal a dark-haired teenager wearing jeans and a plain green t-shirt. She smiled at them a little shyly. “Hello.”

“Hi, Cira,” Stiles said with a quick smile. “We’re going to try to break your curse, but we need to find out more about it. Um, I’m Stiles, and this is Lydia.” 

“Oh. Hi.” She picked at her bottom lip, then shrugged. “Okay. But you probably won’t break it. It’s fifteen-years-old,” she told them like she was imparting a secret.

“We’d like to try,” Lydia said firmly.

“Your grandmother said something about your hair…?” Stiles prompted gently.

Cira flicked her gaze to Melinda, who nodded encouragingly. She sighed and stepped back, opening her door wider. 

“It grows about two feet a year,” Melinda said anxiously into the silence. “It doesn’t break or come out when we brush or wash it.” 

It was clearly a two person job; black, wavy-curly hair was spread throughout the room, though most of it was piled on the twin bed by the wall. 

“What happens when you cut it?” Lydia asked, stepping into the room to get a closer look. 

“We’ve never cut it,” Cira said fiercely, wrapping a hand around a strand of the hair near her shoulder.

“ _Never_?” Stiles looked at Melinda for confirmation. 

She nodded wearily. “When she was little, she used to scream and scream if I tried to cut it, so I just stopped trying.”

“We don’t need to cut it,” Cira insisted. “It’s fine.” She looked a little scared, her dark eyes flickering to where Lydia was writing notes.

“What happens when the curse breaks, Cira? You’re going to go to school with thirty feet of hair?” Melinda demanded. 

Cira’s face paled slightly. “Why would I do that? All the classes I need are online. I can even get a _job_ online.” The fingers of her left hand twisted until they were tangled up in her hair. She smiled tightly and gestured at her computer. “I can do everything from right here.”

“You’re on vitamin D tablets because you have a deficiency, Cira. You can’t stay inside forever!” Melinda snapped. 

“Why not?”

“You talk to her,” Melinda said in a forcefully calm voice. “Ask all the questions you need to.” She stalked out. 

Cira sighed. “I dunno what’s so great about out there anyway. I can order everything straight here from my computer.” She glanced anxiously at her window.

Lydia cleared her throat. “So your hair has never stopped growing, you’ve never cut it, and it doesn’t come out on its own?”

“No,” Cira replied, walking over to her desk chair. Her hair unraveled like a black rope to follow her. “I won’t cut it,” she said stubbornly. 

“We don’t even know if it can be cut,” Lydia replied. “What happens when you try to go outside?”

Cira rubbed her bare feet against the carpet. “Well, I don’t.” 

“Yes, but what physically happens when you try?”

“I don’t try.”

“You don’t—but how do you know you’re still cursed?” Stiles blurted. 

“When I was little, Grandma tried to take me outside holding hands,” Cira admitted with a heavy sigh. “It just didn’t work. I barely got onto the porch before something stopped me, like a wall. I haven’t tried for like, four years.”

“Hmm.” Lydia noted all that down.

“Do you…know how to break the curse?” Cira asked haltingly. She sounded odd.

“Not yet,” Stiles said. “But we’ll find a way.”

“Oh. Alright.” She looked at her lap and didn’t look up again, answering the rest of Lydia’s questions with her face downturned. 

Melinda gave them cookies as they were leaving. “Cira made them,” she said with a fond smile. “She’s very talented. Thank you,” she added. 

Out at the car, Stiles looked at Lydia. “We’re not going to charge them, are we?”

She wrinkled her nose. “Of course not.”

“Good.” He sighed deeply. “Because I have no idea.” 

She looked at her notepad. “Maybe we should go talk to Ethel Lestat.” She glared at him sternly when he scoffed. “What?”

“We could get cursed,” he pointed out. “She might not be happy to see us.”

“I’ve got the protection charm Lexa and her mother made me, and you’re already cursed,” Lydia said. “And if it gets us answers, it’ll be worth it.”

He sighed. “If you say so. What’s the address?”

She smiled grimly.

 

Ethel Lestat lived in a blue house on a little suburban street that was filled with other, similar houses. She was in the yard in a folding chair, staring at them as they got out of the car. She was also wearing a long skirt and blouse like it wasn’t forty degrees outside, her gray-streaked blonde hair spilling over her shoulders. 

“Ms. Lestat?” Lydia asked from the sidewalk.

“Yes.” She barely turned her head. “What do you want?”

“I was wondering what curse you placed on Cira Villafuerte,” Lydia replied firmly.

Ethel let out a sharp laugh. “It’s a good one, eh? Still going strong fifteen years later.” She shrugged. “Wasn’t supposed to be that hard to break, but the girl’s parents were weak fools, so I say the blame lies with them.” 

“Why—where are they?” Stiles asked, taking his hands out of his coat pockets.

“Hell if I know. They moved, left the girl and her curse behind.” Her eyes went hazy for a moment. She nodded when they refocused. “Yep. Moved clear across to New York. Got two other kids now.”

Stiles started to say something—ask her how she knew, maybe, or why—but Lydia cut him off.

“What curse is it?” she repeated.

Ethel shrugged. “It came from a book my friend Hester lent me.” She smirked, pulling her wrinkles taut. “It was based on a faery story, but I gave it my very own little twist.”

“Like what?” Lydia demanded. “How do we break it?”

Ethel waved her hand. “I don’t remember. I don’t care. Go before I curse _you_.”

“Where’s the book, then?” Lydia snapped.

Ethel’s eyes narrowed, but caught on her necklace. She looked at Stiles, then smiled unexpectedly. It made her look about ten years younger, actually. “Well, I’d say it’s back to the original owner. Bye now.” She got up from her chair with the creak and crackle of bones and tendons and shuffled off to her house. 

“We don’t need the book,” Stiles said quickly, before Lydia could call her back. “I just remembered something. She said it was based on a faery story, and then Cira’s hair—” 

Lydia’s eyes lit. “Oh. Rapunzel.”

“Right.” He put his hands back in his pockets. “I don’t remember Rapunzel being cursed, just taken and kept locked in a tower.”

“Yeah, and people’s hair shouldn’t be able to get to be thirty feet long without breaking or coming out.” She hummed thoughtfully. “We’ll just have to read as many versions of Rapunzel as we can while trying out containment curse cures.” She pulled her phone out to set a reminder. “Okay, let’s head back so you can hang out with Scott.”

“That’s alright, we can get started on Cira’s curse today,” Stiles said, only cringing a little. 

Lydia rolled her eyes. “She didn’t seem to be too fussed about breaking it right away. Tomorrow is soon enough.” 

“If you’re sure. You’re not going to do the research on your own, are you?” he asked, narrowing his eyes. 

She just smiled and got into the driver’s seat. 

They’d taken Lydia’s car because Stiles had left his jeep with Scott and Derek so they could get around while he was out.

At the apartment, Derek and Scott were in the kitchen taking to-go boxes out of paper bags and setting them on the table.

“Hey! We went and got lunch when you said you were on your way back.” Scott held out a container of curly fries. “How’d it go?”

“Thanks. It was okay. We know what the curse is based on, sort of…” He explained about her hair and Ethel, and what they were going to do to try and break it. “She made it seem like she was surprised it had lasted so long, so we think it’s an easy curse to break. Maybe like a containment curse with a little…twist.” 

“Then it’s really strange that her grandmother hasn’t been able to break it, right?” Scott shook his head. “If she’s been trying and it’s a simple curse?” 

Stiles shrugged. “I don’t know, but I hope we can break it.” He looked at the burger they got him. “Thanks for lunch, guys. Wanna watch a movie while we eat, then play some Mario Kart?” 

“Cool,” Scott decided, carrying his food out to the couch. 

Stiles grinned at Derek. “You good?” he asked carefully.

“Yeah. Yes.” He smiled and leaned in for a kiss.

Stiles tilted his head in acceptance, then got overenthusiastic and almost dropped his food. Luckily, Derek had quicker reflexes than him and steadied the containers well before Stiles even realized they were tipping. 

“Thanks.”

Derek pressed their foreheads together for a few seconds. “Welcome.” He flicked his eyes toward the living room, then back. “I had a good morning with Scott. He said we should hang out until you were done.”

Stiles smiled. “Good. I’m glad you guys get along.”

Derek straightened up at that, rolling his eyes. “Is there anyone that doesn’t get along with Scott?”

“The fact that you asked that means you understand Scott’s personality very well,” he replied, grinning.

Scott picked the movie ( _Sky High_ , the nerd) and settled on the couch to Stiles’s right while they ate.

“Okay, Mario Kart. I call Luigi!” Scott yelled, bouncing in his seat.

“He likes to shout it as if anyone would fight him over Luigi, because he feels bad that no one ever picks him,” Stiles explained to Derek, making Scott protest loudly. “I prefer Bowser.”

Derek chuckled a little.

“That’s because you like to knock people off the course,” Scott accused.

“I won’t deny it,” Stiles acknowledged. “Who do you want, Derek?”

He picked Toad and settled with his controller right next to Stiles.

They managed a few tracks before Derek excused himself to answer his phone.

When he returned, he explained, “My sister and Ethan asked if I wanted to go get groceries with them, so I think I’m gonna go.” He looked caught between guilty and eager.

“Oh, alright.” Stiles stood and helped him find his jacket. “Hey, tomorrow after work, we should go get you a sweater,” he said.

Derek gave him a funny look. “Your dad said the same thing. What’s wrong with my jacket?”

Stiles just smiled and shook his head. “Nothing. Everyone can use a soft sweater, that’s all.”

“Okay…sure, I guess.”

“Great. Have fun with Ethan and whichever sister,” Stiles said.

“Laura, and I will.” He hesitated, so Stiles just kissed him, skimming a hand through his hair.

“Bye.”

“Bye.” He turned, almost running into the door and making Scott snort.

Stiles threw himself beside Scott once he’d gone, grabbing his controller. 

“So, how’re things with you two going?” Scott asked once they were racing.

Bowser fell off the side of the track because Stiles had turned to glower at him. “Fine. But you’ve been with Derek all morning. How’s school?”

Scott laughed. “Okay. I can’t wait to be done. Dr. Deaton said he wants me to work with him when I graduate, since most of his clients already—especially the newer ones—know me and they all have good things to say. They’ve even been asking when I was going to come back.” He threw his arms up when he won first place, letting out a shout of victory. 

Stiles got third place. “Shit.” He cleared his throat. “So, you’re going to work in Deaton’s practice when you graduate?”

Scott nodded. “Yeah. I mean, he’s already established here, and his patients and their owners like me. Plus, I mean, he could use the help. He’s out of practice. And with two of us, he could take on more patients.”

Stiles held u his hands. “Who’re you trying to convince, dude?”

Scott laughed awkwardly. “Right. Sorry. I’m gonna go get a Pepsi.” 

Stiles shrugged and watched him go, frowning a little. “Are you coming back home soon?” he asked finally, deciding to drop the subject. If something was wrong, Scott would tell him when he was ready to talk about it.

“Tch, yeah. I’ll be back the Tuesday before Thanksgiving,” Scott reminded him as he returned to the living area, Pepsi can in hand. “That Tuesday night through Sunday.” 

“Nice. You’ll get to see Dad.”

Scott grimaced. “I did take him lunch yesterday so I could see him,” he said.

“Oh, good. I didn’t have time, so—thanks,” he muttered, guilt sneaking up on him. Maybe he should have dinner with John that night. 

“I wanted to say hi. He was busy, too, you know, because of Halloween.” Scott flopped down beside him, nudging his knee with his own. “Things are good now, right? You’ve got the business, and Derek’s curse is broken and…” He sort of smirked. “And you’ve got Derek.”

“Things are good,” Stiles agreed. He quelled the urge to press a hand to his chest, to the curse mark there. He could always feel it, really, like something cool laying across his chest. He didn’t touch it, didn’t even twitch, but Scott knew anyway.

“Are you worried about the curse Kate cast?” he asked shrewdly. 

“No,” he answered far too quickly.

Scott’s eyes narrowed.

“Not really,” he amended. “When did you start noticing things?” he demanded. When Scott just continued to stare at him, he continued, “Sometimes I get worried about it, just a little.” He shrugged. “Kate’s dead, though, and the curse didn’t activate when she cast it, so what’s there to worry about?”

“Lydia told us there might be a trigger for it,” Scott reminded him. “It still could.” He grabbed Stiles’s wrist. “You should look into ways to break your own curse, too, not just everyone else’s.”

Stiles smiled and pulled away, clapping his hand on Scott’s shoulder. “It’ll be fine. I’ll look into it, but there’s really nothing to look for yet. I’ll be fine.”

Scott’s forehead creased. “What if something activates it, though?”

“Then we’ll break it. Lydia will help. It’s gonna be fine.” He nudged Scott’s controller with his foot. “C’mon, let’s play some more before you have to go.”

“Pretending it’s not there isn’t going to make it disappear,” Scott pointed out, but he did pick up the controller. 

“Yeah, but it makes me feel better.” Stiles grabbed his own controller.

 

They played until Scott had to go, talking only occasionally and mostly about Scott’s classes or Stiles’s clients.

“See you on Thanksgiving,” Scott promised as he was leaving. “It’ll be fun.”

“I know. Be careful on your way back.”

“I always am. See you! Tell Derek and the rest bye from me!”

“Will do!”

When he was gone, Stiles fell backwards over the arm of the couch, letting his legs dangle over the edge, and texted John, asking if he wanted to have dinner together.

His super-enthusiastic _Yes!!!_ made Stiles feel guilty all over again.

He called Derek. “Hey, I’m going to my dad’s for dinner, so I won’t be here at the apartment until later.”

“Oh, alright. I’m going to eat with the pack for dinner tonight.”

“Cool. Have fun.”

“You too. Um. Can I stay with you tonight, though?” 

“Of course. Use your key,” he added. “I might be at Dad’s house late.”

“Okay. See you later.”

“You too.” _I love you._ He didn’t say it, hung up before he could. He did, he loved Derek, and he wouldn’t stop even if he could. It was just that sometimes he got the feeling Derek felt guilty when he said it, and he never wanted to make him feel bad about that. Other times, he just…had the feeling Derek needed to hear it without any expectations, and so he told him, reminded him that he was loved. 

 

Stiles changed into jeans and a cleaner t-shirt for dinner and left, figuring he could clean up the living room when he got back. 

John was making baked barbeque chicken, which Stiles knew was likely not what he’d planned on eating before he’d texted. 

“Hey, kid. Everything alright?” he asked when Stiles arrived.

“Oh, yeah. I just wanted to have dinner with you.”

John smiled. “That’s nice to hear. How’d your day go?” he asked, stepping back into the kitchen to pull the baked potatoes out.

“Good. We’re—Lydia and I are going to try to break the Villafuerte curse,” he said, putting his hands in his pockets. “We went and talked to the sorceress who cursed her,” he admitted.

John straightened up swiftly. “You’re both okay, right?”

“Yeah. Lydia’s got that protection charm and I’m already cursed, so we figured it’d be okay.”

He frowned thoughtfully while he got down plates and cups. “I have to ask why witches—like the Paulsons, for instance—don’t make everyone protection charms and sell them.”

“That would be because they’re really hard to make, they deplete the witches’ magic, and the ingredients needed are super rare and expensive. It’s easier to get all the witches in Beacon Hills together and place protection spells on the sheriff’s department, the schools, and hospital.”

“What’s the difference?”

Stiles leaned against the counter, lifting a hand to gesture at the house at large. “If we had a protection spell on the house, we’d be safe from curses inside it, but if we were already cursed and stepped inside, it would stay with us. Protection charms for a single person basically condenses that down to the chain and charm of a necklace, concentrated on the person wearing it. It’ll protect them as long as they’re wearing the charm.” He waved his hand. “It’s easier to protect a place, because so many people can work on the protection. If three people with similar magic—like Lexa and her parents—work on a protection charm together, that’ll work and make it stronger.” 

“Okay, so-”

“But if, say, Lexa and some other witches, put magic into a tiny protection charm together, their magic might cancel each other out, or turn it into something else altogether.” 

John hummed thoughtfully. “Get some chicken,” he said, which meant he was done with magic and charms. 

“How was your day?” Stiles asked, sitting across from him with his own plate. “Chase any criminals?”

“I had to give Jess Peters a speeding ticket,” he said with a quick grin. 

“Mrs. Peters is about a hundred years old,” Stiles pointed out. “How fast could she have been going?”

“She’s more like eighty, and fast enough that her husband Martin was covering his face in terror in the passenger seat.”

“How exciting. Was that the big crime of the day?” Stiles teased. “Geriatric street racers?”

“I also got called down to Safeway to scare an eight-year-old who pocketed a candy bar. His father was angrier than the store manager and asked me to lay it on thick.” He shook his head. “The kid had his dad’s number; he teared up and just about broke all our hearts.”

Stiles scoffed. “You didn’t fall for that when I got in trouble,” he said indignantly.

“That’s because you were a repeat offender.”

“I was rambunctious!”

“You let out Mrs. Sanchez’s dogs because Scott said they were lonely!”

“They were!”

They had a good laugh at the memory, though: Mrs. Sanchez had called to report a break in that summer, hiding in her bedroom until Deputy Barry had arrived to investigate. She’d found Scott and Stiles, seven-years-old, playing with the two golden retrievers just outside of Mrs. Sanchez’s backyard fence.

“I was being a friend to all animals,” Stiles insisted, cutting his chicken vigorously.

“Uh-huh. Were you being a friend to the animals when you ran up and down the block naked when you were thirteen?”

“Scott dared me!” he shouted, nearly knocking over his cup of water with his flailing. “He dared me to, that’s on him!”

“Son, I don’t know if you’re aware, but a dare isn’t exactly a blood oath.”

“It is,” Stiles said gravely, “when you’re thirteen.”

“Why didn’t Derek come with you?” he asked. “Were you scared I’d tell him that story?”

“Oh, ha! He’s eating dinner with his family.” He twisted a napkin between his fingers. 

“That’s good. Talia’s been worried about him being alone so often,” he said casually.

“When do you talk to Talia?” Stiles asked, interested. He didn’t know they talked casually or anything.

“Whenever. There are these magical objects called cell phones that allows you to send messages instantly to people whenever you want.”

“Everyone wonders where I get my attitude from,” Stiles said mournfully. “You hide it too well, because they never seem to realize it’s _you._ ” Then he grinned. “Dad, are you bros with Alpha Talia Hale?” 

John wrinkled his nose. “Bros? Really, Stiles?”

“Okay, so you’re friends with Talia Hale?”

“So are you. We spent a lot of time with them over the summer. I also text Ethan and Laini.”

Stiles smiled. “Look at you, making friends with my boyfriend’s family.”

John shrugged. “They’re a friendly bunch.”

“Then why don’t you text Peter?”

“Because Peter’s a smug, annoying brat,” he said easily, surprising a shout of laughter out of Stiles. “Also, he’s closer to your age than mine.” 

“Well, tell me how you really feel, then,” he snickered. “Peter’s not so bad…when he’s not talking.” 

John snorted. “Agreed.”

“Speaking of the Hales, Ethan asked Melissa if she wanted to do Thanksgiving at the Hale house, and I figured we could join them. If you’re interested.”

“Talia mentioned that. I think I’d like that, having a big family dinner.” He smiled.

“Me too. It’s pretty fun when it’s just a normal dinner, so it can’t be that much different.”

“Right.”

After dinner, they watched a couple episodes of _Once Upon a Time_ before Stiles left to go home, yawning and pleased.

He found Derek curled up on the couch with Isaac, the living room clean of his and Scott’s mess, while they watched a movie. 

“Hi,” he said quietly, in case one of them was sleeping. “Thanks for cleaning up, guys.”

They both blinked sleepily at him.

“Everything okay?”

Derek yawned and stretched. “Yes. How was dinner with your dad?”

Stiles smiled. “Good. We were discussing Thanksgiving and work and…stuff.” He waved a hand and shrugged. “What’re you guys watching?”

“ _Flubber,_ ” Isaac said. “We only just started. Wanna watch with us?”

“Sure.” 

They made room for him between them, so he settled in the middle seat, leaning his head against Derek’s shoulder; Derek put his arm around him in response, and Isaac squished closer.

It made the cold of the apartment more tolerable, and it was nice to be close.

 

The next afternoon was so slow at work that Lydia sent Stiles away, promising to call him if she suddenly got busy. She had Mikaela and Cora there to keep her company, so Stiles located Derek—at the diner hanging out with Simon and helping Casey with vocabulary words—and dragged him to the mall. 

“Do you and your father have something against my jacket?” Derek asked, though he didn’t seem to be offended.

“No. I find leather very attractive on you. However,” he said, holding the door open so Derek could step through, “leather jackets aren’t exactly comforting to wear.”

“They’re clothes,” Derek pointed out.

“And you should have at least one cuddly sweater for those days when everything just feels like too much,” Stiles reasoned. 

Surprised, Derek fell silent and followed Stiles to the nearest clothing store without any more questions.

“You okay?” Stiles asked anxiously. “I don’t mean to be so pushy. I just thought-” He stopped, pleasantly surprised when Derek kissed him very quickly on the mouth.

He stepped back just as quickly, studying Stiles’s face anxiously, but Stiles liked to think that was progress. “Thanks,” Derek said. “I’ll get a sweater.”

After he found one he liked in the right size, Stiles bought four of various colors before he could protest. He wore one out of the store, looking all soft and cuddly. Stiles thought maybe he was never going to get any work done when he could just stay inside curled up with Derek instead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed!


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi hi! I've had to rewrite chapter twelve of this because it was terrible and I was in a slump but kudos and comments keep me going and I've finally fixed the issue so we're moving again! This one will probably have as many, if not more, words as the first, but less chapters because somehow all of the chapters are long-ass beasts. So....enjoy chapter five!
> 
> Let me know what you think so far!  
> This chapter has Scott x Stiles BRO TIME and Derek Dealing With Some Stuff so...yeah.

“Mikaela says that Cira said she doesn’t really _need_ to leave her house,” Lydia announced, scowling at her phone. “And that since it’s been fifteen years, it probably won’t ever break.”

Stiles lifted his head. “Well, she’s wrong. What’re they doing?”

“Making charm bracelets,” Lydia said sourly.

They’d sent Mikaela to befriend Cira, since they were the same age, hoping that maybe friendship could break the curse, or at least give Cira hope that it would.

So far, no luck, but Mikaela was hopeful that she could make a difference. Stiles had definitely heard her bragging to Peter that she was on her own special field mission. 

“We could try…” Stiles looked at his book. “Freesia.”

Lydia frowned. “Melinda tried freesia.” 

Stiles dropped his head on the book. “Then we could try bluebells?”

“Bluebells won’t work.” She poked him with her pen. “Come on, what’s the matter with you?”

“Sorry,” he sighed. He stood so he could stretch and pace around. “I didn’t sleep well last night. Or the night before. Or…the whole week, really.” 

“Nightmares?” she asked casually.

“Not really. More like…I start to drift off and I _think_ I’m going to have a nightmare, so I jerk awake.” 

“Oh.” She tapped her pen. “Have you tried a mild sleep aid?” she asked cautiously.

“Yeah. It just made me more tired the next day.” He rolled his shoulders and went to the coffee machine they’d set up on the console, pouring himself a cup.

It wasn’t nearly as good as Scents of Humor’s coffee, but it was cheaper and only a few steps away. 

“So, no freesia. Maybe water willow?”

“Maybe.” She made a note. “I’m getting tired of containment curses,” she admitted. 

“Me, too,” he said dryly. “Maybe she should wash her hair with freesia, water willow, and spring water. The hair has to be part of it,” he added. 

“I know. I’ll add that to the list.” She checked her phone again and frowned deeply. “Mikaela says Cira’s “weird” about going outside.”

“Weird how?” he asked. “Plenty of people don’t like going out.”

Lydia replied and waited, watching her phone. When it buzzed with Mikaela’s reply, her frown deepened. “She said she’s scared. Also the hair smells odd.” 

Stiles threw his free hand up. “Odd how?” When Lydia looked at him sharply, he focused on drinking his coffee.

“She’s not sure, just odd.” Lydia shrugged. “Could just be curse magic she smells. Okay, Stilinski, focus that hyperactive brain and help me figure out a few other cures before we prepare for any appointments.” 

He sighed. “Alright. I hate to say it, but we might need a strand of her hair to make a cure. It’s happened before,” he said quickly.

“I know. What I don’t know is how we’re supposed to get a piece of hair if she won’t cut it, and it doesn’t come out on its own.” She frowned at her notepad. “I can’t see her letting us pluck even a single strand.”

They’d only been working five minutes after that when Derek texted Stiles, asking if he could please come outside alone.

“Go ahead. I’m just going to make a cup of coffee,” Lydia muttered, waving him away. 

Stiles stepped outside. “Der?” he called, stepping around his jeep and looking around for him.

“Hey, Stiles,” he called. “Could you…come around to the back of the building?” he asked. His voice sounded funny, like he was trying not to laugh.

Smiling a little at the sound, Stiles rounded the side of the building, passing the door to his apartment before he rounded the other side.

“What’s going…on?” he asked, his voice hitching slightly when he saw Derek standing a good ten feet away from Jackson Whittemore.

Jackson was scowling thunderously at the ground. His pants were made of a brilliant, glittering gold fabric that looked stiff and uncomfortable. 

“Hey, Stiles,” Derek greeted. “Lydia’s boyfriend has a curse he needs help with.” His voice shook a little.

“Oh?” Seeing Derek’s mirth put Stiles at ease. It couldn’t be so bad if Derek was amused. “What kind of curse?”

Derek bit his lip and bent to pick something up from beside his foot. “He, um, he dropped this.”

“Is that a phone?” Stiles asked flatly. 

It was really more of a smartphone-shaped piece of…solid…gold.

“Yes.”

Stiles looked at Jackson. “What _happened?_ ” 

“I touched it,” he replied through his teeth.

“You-” Stiles looked at Jackson’s pants, then let out a shout of laughter. “You’ve got the Midas curse!” 

“Are you going to help me or not, Stilinski?” he snapped, face flushing as he took a step back.

“Yeah, alright. But seriously, don’t touch anything else.”

“No shit.”

“He doesn’t have to help you,” Derek pointed out. “He could just go get Lydia to deal with you.”

Stiles grinned when Jackson shut his mouth. “Be right back.” 

Lydia noticed the change in his mood when he skipped back inside. “What?” she asked warily.

“Oh, there’s a client with a Midas curse,” he said, gleeful. “I figured I could drive him and stuff,” he added.

“Oh. Alright. Don’t forget the andromeda and white violets,” she said. “There’s an aging curse coming at two, so…” She looked at her notes. “So if you could bring back rosa multiflora, white chrysanthemum, and lunaria, that would be great.”

“Sure.” He grabbed his keys and jacket. “See you soon.”

Outside, Derek and Jackson were waiting in awkward silence, not looking at each other. 

“Okay, Jackson, put these gloves on,” Stiles said, pulling out the cheap gloves he kept in his jacket pockets for when he forgot his favorite ones.

“If I touch them, I won’t be able to get them on before they turn gold,” he said tersely. 

“I’ll put them on him,” Derek offered. “As long as he doesn’t move.” 

“How will the gloves help?” Jackson demanded.

“If your hands are covered, you can’t touch anything—or anyone—and accidentally turn them gold.”

“Will they turn back when the curse is broken?”

“They should.” 

He huffed and held his hands out, face twisting as Derek approached him with the gloves.

They started turning gold the instant Derek put them over his fingers, but he managed to cover Jackson’s hands completely before they turned solid, moving quickly enough that both Stiles and Jackson almost missed the whole ordeal.

“Okay, now we have to go to Heather’s shop for some flowers, then head to a spring.”

Jackson rolled his eyes.

“You can pay for the flowers, gas, and my time and help when we get back,” Stiles said cheerfully. “Who cursed you, and why?” he asked conversationally as they headed to the jeep. 

“Brody Vonner,” Jackson muttered. 

Stiles lifted his brows. “Brody Vonner? He’s usually pretty chill…What’d you _do_?”

Jackson just glowered at him, keeping quiet. 

Stiles and Derek stayed between him and the office building to block him, just in case Lydia glanced out the front door.

Stiles ran into the flower shop alone; Lexa was at the counter with Laura.

“Hey, Stiles, what’s up?”

“I need some flowers,” he said cheerily, and listed them. “Could your wrap the andromeda and white violets separately? Hmm, and maybe throw in some field lilac, for good measure. I’ve got a Midas curse to break,” he added. He was trying very hard not to laugh.

“Was it Jackson?” Heather asked, coming out of the storeroom with some tulips in a vase. 

“Yes!” he gasped, finally laughing. “Brody Vonner cursed him! I bet he was bragging about his Porsche again, but he hasn’t actually said.”

“He probably was.” She shook her head and set the vase on the counter. 

Laura slipped around the register to find the flowers Stiles had asked for. 

“Does Lydia know?” Lexa asked.

“Not yet. She’s going to find out when he goes in to pay.” Stiles shrugged. “I figured it was safer all around if she found out _after_ the curse got broken.” 

“So he doesn’t accidentally turn her gold?”

“So she doesn’t slap him upside the head and leave him cursed for a few days to learn a lesson.”

Laura bundled the flowers into two groups and passed them to Lexa for her to ring up. “Has Derek been with you all morning?” she asked, sniffing at his shoulder and leaning on the counter next to him.

He frowned at her. “No, he went to see Dr. Morell this morning.”

“Oh, right. I forgot.” She shook her head. “Where is he now?”

“He wants to come with, so he’s out in the car.” 

She slapped his shoulder in a friendly manner and ran outside to say hello.

“Business card,” Heather reminded him when he almost paid with his personal card again.

“Shit, whoops. I keep forgetting.”

“We know.” Lexa flicked a stray petal at him. “Are you and Lydia ever going to come with us to the movies or something, or are you avoiding us?”

“We are not avoiding you.” He signed the receipt. “Derek and I can probably come out this Friday and we can go see a movie. We can invite Lydia and King Doofus out there.”

“Yes!” Heather slapped a palm against the counter. “You can’t back out now, you’ve already agreed. Seriously.”

“Seriously, I won’t. I promise. Scott will be in town on Friday, and he’s going to be upset if he doesn’t get to come.” He scooped up the flowers. “Thank you, and see you later, probably.” 

“Probably.” Lexa snorted.

He waved and stepped outside in time to see Laura ruffling Derek’s hair and leaning away from the window before he could swat at her.

“Bye, guys! Have _fun_!” she called, laughing.

“I can hold those,” Derek offered in an effort to ignore her.

“Thanks,” Stiles said, handing him the flowers through the window. 

“Would you turn on the radio or something?” Jackson demanded as soon as Stiles was back in the car. “I’m bored as fuck.”

“That’s because you turned your phone to gold,” Stiles chirped, “because you got yourself cursed.”

“Brody Vonner cursed me,” he snapped. “I didn’t do this.”

“And _why_ did Brody Vonner curse you? Did he get tired of listening to you talk about your Porsche for the ten thousandth time?”

When Jackson’s face turned a slow, ugly red, Stiles started laughing.

As they drove, Stiles mentioned Lexa and Heather’s invitation to Derek, who seemed pleased and even eager at the prospect, which was encouraging and a little cute.

“She’s going to invite Lydia and Jackson, too,” Stiles breathed, low enough that Jackson probably couldn’t hear over the radio.

Derek glanced back at him, then shrugged. “I think it’ll be fun.”

“It should be. We could go see _Moana._ ”

Jackson snorted.

“Disney movies are the best, Jackson,” Stiles protested. “ _Moana_ looks awesome.” 

“I’m sure it will be,” Derek said before he could comment.

The closest spring was about thirty minutes outside of Beacon Hills, so when they finally got there, Stiles pretty much flung himself out of the jeep so he could pace for a second before he had to listen to Jackson complaining again.

Derek rounded the car and opened Jackson’s door, clearly sensing that Stiles was in no mood to help.

Because Derek was usually so calm and generally quiet, it came as quite a shock when Jackson muttered something Stiles couldn’t hear and Derek’s eyes turned burning gold and a snarl ripped from his throat.

Stiles jumped between them, pressing a hand to Derek’s chest and hoping to prevent any bloodshed, should Derek be angry enough to lunge.

Jackson had already leapt back, face going white.

“Whoa, guys, okay. Derek, maybe retract the fangs.” 

Derek eased back, fangs shrinking until his teeth were all just a little sharper than normal; his eyes stayed gold.

Stiles figured that was good enough. “And you—just stop being a jerkface for maybe five seconds and get your ass in the water.”

Apparently having a werewolf boyfriend to defend your honor or whatever came with the added bonus of intimidating whiny rich kids into being quiet and obedient, because Jackson scurried around them and right into the spring. 

“You okay?” Stiles asked, turning to Derek.

“He’s rude,” he said stiffly. “You drove him here—you could have just let him figure it out himself and he’s acting like a spoiled brat.”

“‘Acting’ is the wrong word. He _is_ a spoiled brat.” Stiles shrugged. “We will never get along, but honestly the attitude today is probably mostly due to embarrassment.” 

Derek scoffed.

Stiles held out his hand. “I need to cut those flowers up so the curse can break.”

Derek glanced at the flowers thoughtfully.

“Derek,” he said, trying to be stern. His tone came out deeply amused instead.

He sighed. “I just think you should let him sit there like that for a while.” 

“Nah. Lydia will make him come watch _Moana_ with us and probably _The Notebook_ right after that. That should be punishment enough.”

Derek grumbled to himself, but he handed them over.

“Thank you.” Stiles started twisting off the petals, then shredding the stems.

Once Derek noticed the pattern, he started helping, which made the work that much quicker.

“Do we just dump them in the water?” he asked, cupping his hands around the petals.

Stiles scooped up the stem pieces. “We have to drop them over his head,” he chirped, all but skipping to the edge of the spring.

Jackson was near the edge, soaked and scowling. “Couldn’t you have taken any longer?” he snarled, apparently having gained his courage back now that Derek was calm.

“I could have, but that’s just delaying breaking the curse and seeing Lydia’s face when you tell her what happened,” Stiles replied with a big, big smile.

Jackson didn’t respond beyond looking vaguely alarmed.

Derek laughed and dropped the petals over his head; Stiles did the same with the stems. 

Jackson sputtered, almost losing his balance.

“Go under,” Stiles advised.

He glowered up at him as he slowly lowered his head under the water.

“Did he need to go under?” Derek wondered.

“No, I just know how much time he spends on his hair,” Stiles said, sighing happily while Derek laughed.

 

Lydia was not amused by Jackson getting himself cursed. She made him pay full price, including gas, and said she _did_ want to go to the movies that Friday, whether he joined them or not.

Derek and Stiles hid in Stiles’s office under the pretense of hanging pictures while Lydia asked Jackson if he was satisfied with the service he received, her voice dangerous.

“Laini gave me a copy of this one, too,” Derek said, tapping the edge of the framed picture he’d found.

“Oh, yeah, that’s my favorite.”

It was taken back in August; Erica, Boyd, Isaac, Scott, Lydia, Heather, Lexa, Stiles, and Derek all squashed together on the front porch after it’d been rebuilt. Lydia, Heather, and Lexa had come out to meet the Hales and help out, and Laini had insisted on getting a picture of all of them.

“Do you want it on the wall?” Derek asked.

“Psh, no, that one can go in the front so everyone can see.” He tipped his head. “Sounds like Jackson left…”

Derek nodded. “He just drove off. He parked on the street behind us, when the curse hit.”

Stiles snickered. “I’ll probably stop finding this funny in about twenty years or so.”

Lydia knocked. “Can someone go pick up Mikaela? She doesn’t want to stay too long and make Cira uncomfortable.”

“I…” Derek hesitated, looking embarrassed. 

“You can use my jeep,” Stiles said quickly. “I’ve got to stay for the appointment at two anyway.”

“Alright. Thanks.” 

 

Since it was the Tuesday before Thanksgiving and Scott was supposed to arrive shortly after seven, Lydia and Stiles were in no hurry to close up after their last client left (death aura curse. It was always horrible).

“I set up your check to deposit into your account every other Wednesday,” Lydia said while she was shuffling some papers.

“Uh…”

“We’re getting paid,” she said sternly. “We’ve been doing well since we opened and there’s no point if we don’t pay our employees—and you need groceries.” She held up a hand. “For now, it’s not much, considering we have to subtract the bills from our earnings, plus pay Mikaela and Peter, but if we continue on this steady incline, we should be good before the new year.” 

Stiles exhaled. “You sure know how to take the fight out of a guy.”

She smiled. “I prepared for your argument. You’re predictable, Stilinski.”

“I won’t make a habit of it.”

“See that you don’t.” She checked her papers and sighed. “I think Peter might be right,” she said, enunciating carefully. 

“What about?”

“Having forms for clients to fill out,” she sighed. “It seems more efficient.” She glanced at her phone. “I’ll make them myself. I’ve been making different versions as practice, cutting out the unnecessary questions and adding detail,” she admitted. “I think I’ve got a good idea of what we need.” She twirled her pen through her fingers, agitated. 

“He’s just trying to help,” Stiles offered, and was rewarded with a steely-eyed stare. He held his hands up. “I know he annoys you.”

She sighed again and stood. “There’s no point in staying here any longer—no one’s going to come after dark.” 

“Are you sure?” he asked, knowing to let the subject drop. “We could stay a little longer.”

“No, it’s alright. I can’t think of any other cures to try for Cira, so I’ll just go home.” 

“When do you want to try those?” Stiles asked, grabbing his jacket. 

“Maybe tomorrow. You don’t have to come, if you’d rather spend the day with Scott. Peter can watch the office,” she added. “Probably.”

“I’ll come, give Scott a chance to visit his mom. He’s staying the whole weekend, so we’ll have time.” He stepped outside so she could set the alarm, then lock the door.

“Doesn’t he graduate soon?” she asked. “I thought he was nearly done.” 

“He is—he finishes at the end of December.”

She smiled. “He’s excited.”

“Yeah. He’s going to work with Deaton,” Stiles said, because he couldn’t hold that in.

“Really? I’d have thought he’d want to open his own practice.”

“Yeah,” Stiles snorted. “And take business away from Deaton? Not likely. Plus, I think he wants to work with someone with experience before he tries anything on his own for real.”

Lydia hummed thoughtfully. “Well, I’m sure he’ll do great.” She glanced at her phone. “See you tomorrow. I was thinking we can open at eight like usual, then head to Cira’s at eleven?”

“Sure. I’ll be here.” He waited until she’d pulled out to get into the jeep, shivering a little, and texted Derek. He was upstairs, but Stiles didn’t want to walk all the way up if Derek wanted to go pick up something for dinner.

He replied that he’d be down in a second.

“I think I’m going to sleep at my house tonight,” he said carefully once he’d gotten into the jeep. He was wearing the green sweater and seemed super relaxed and comfortable, which was a great look on him.

“Okay. Do you want me to drive you home now?” Stiles asked, leaning in to kiss him.

Derek sighed softly, bringing up one hand to cup the side of Stiles’s face, his thumb skimming across his cheekbone, back and forth.

Stiles flicked his tongue over Derek’s mouth, testing, and was rewarded when Derek parted his lips, tilting his head just slightly to let Stiles control the pace. 

Stiles lifted his hands, resting one against Derek’s neck and the other on his shoulder, huffing a little, impatient, as he realized he couldn’t really get any closer. 

Derek’s left hand trailed up Stiles’s leg until he could grasp his hip and pull him closer; he seemed to have forgotten himself, which Stiles was 100% okay with, except the gear shift was digging into his thigh and his foot was falling asleep, jammed under the dashboard as it was. 

“Um,” he managed, and just like that, Derek snapped back, jerking his hands away so quickly his nails scraped the skin of Stiles’s hip where his fingers had slid under his shirt.

“Sorry,” he gasped, pressing himself back against the door. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine.” Stiles smiled, hoping to put him at ease. “I was just trying to move my foot. See?” He yanked his leg until his shoe came off, freeing his foot.

“Oh.” Derek relaxed infinitesimally. “So—so that was okay? You were okay?”

“That was great, actually. Only now I’m sad because you’re going home.” Before Derek could look guilty, Stiles continued, “But that’s okay. We’ve got time. Plus, I’m having Scott over tonight, so I’d probably be distracted anyway.”

“Right.” Derek relaxed even more, sliding down so he was sitting normally in his seat. “Thanks for driving me home.” 

“No problem,” he said cheerfully. “What’re your plans for tomorrow?” he asked as he pulled onto the main road. 

“Probably just—help around the house, or take a walk…” He shrugged self-consciously. “I might keep an eye on Cora and Casey for my parents, so no one has to drag them to work.”

“Are Em and Lucy going to be with you, too?”

Derek smiled. “Probably.” 

“You should take them to the park,” Stiles said wisely. “You can use my car, since Lydia will drive us to Cira’s.” 

Derek was quiet for so long, Stiles glanced at him nervously. He said, softly, “Thank you.”

“No problem.”

Derek shifted in his seat, making a quiet noise in his throat, like he was gearing up to something.

Stiles braced himself.

“Isn’t it?” Derek asked at last. “A problem, I mean.”

Stiles blew out a noisy breath, relieved and surprised. “No. I mean, I don’t know if you _know me_ , but I tend to blurt out all of my problems. You borrowing my car isn’t one of them.”

“Is it…because you love me?” His voice was weird there, tense.

Stiles made a face. “It’s because I like you,” he said finally. “Because it really _isn’t_ a big deal. What is this-?” he stopped, because he wasn’t stupid. Most things like this led back to—

“Kate,” Derek croaked. He cleared his throat. “I thought I loved her and she used my feelings to get me to do whatever she wanted and I’m—” He broke off, fists clenching on his knees.

Though it made his ears buzz, Stiles rode out the silence. He felt like it was one Derek needed to finish. 

He took a deep breath, relaxing his hands. “I’m just afraid of being like her—to you.”

The phrasing was off, but Stiles understood. He almost wished Kate wasn’t dead; that way he could give her a good punch to the gut so she would know how it felt whenever Derek admitted things like that. 

Stiles reached out, taking Derek’s hand and twining their fingers. “You aren’t. You couldn’t be.” 

Derek started to protest, but Stiles squeezed his hand. “No, really. You’re so worried about hurting me—do you think Kate did that? And beyond that, I’m _not_ an inexperienced sixteen-year-old, and my personality is basically a force of nature. I would _tell_ you if you hurt me.” He brought their hands up to his mouth and kissed Derek’s knuckles.

He flushed bright red.

“So maybe—maybe don’t worry so much about being like Kate and just be like you. ’Cause you’re pretty great.”

“I’ll try,” he replied in a soft, pleased tone.

Stiles kissed his hand again. “That’s all I ask.”

 

Scott and Stiles ordered pizza, chicken wings, and soda, and basically turned into high schoolers again, complete with trashing the apartment—sorta—and camping out in the living room.

“You’re going to be so mad tomorrow,” Scott said mournfully, toeing a paper plate among many.

“Probably,” Stiles acknowledged. “Especially since I can’t clean it up until I’m done working.”

“I can clean it up!” Scott claimed loyally.

“Actually, I was going to ask if you could do me a favor…”

“Sure,” he said, abandoning his commitment to cleaning instantly.

“Could you take the jeep out to the Hale house tomorrow, maybe hang out with Isaac a little?”

“Why? Not that I mind hanging out with Isaac,” Scott added quickly.

“Well, see, Derek’s going to basically babysit Cora, Emily, Casey, and Lucy, and I thought he might like to take them to the park…”

“Ah. That’ll be fun. Sure, I can do that. I might go, too.” He grinned.

“Thanks, man.”

“No problem.” 

Stiles laughed—he’d said that an hour earlier to Derek, after all—and tackled Scott, hugging him tight.

“Dude,” Scott laughed, patting his back. “The Hales are rubbing off on you.”

“On all of us,” Stiles corrected. He sat back and nudged the remote. “Wanna watch another movie?”

“Yeah.” 

“Oh, speaking of movies—oh! Oh! Midas!” Stiles gasped, and burst out laughing. 

By the time he’d explained what’d happened to Jackson earlier in the day, and the movie-outing invitation, they were both exhausted and passed out on the couch. 

It was the best Stiles had slept in about a week, despite being crammed on the left side of the couch and waking up to Scott’s morning breath on his face.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welp, I hope you like this chapter! ;D I like it. Er, sorry about all the food. Grandma was making eggs and chorizo when I was writing it and so it got included lol. 
> 
> I'm almost finished writing this! That means there will be a final chapter count AND I'll start posting twice a week! :D Yay!!

Stiles rolled off the sofa and shuffled to the bathroom to get ready for the day. On the way, he checked his phone for messages. 

Erica had texted him the night before. ‘ _ **Did you try hypnotism on Derek?**_ ’ she had asked. ‘ ** _He’s all zen. We’re having a sleepover in his room._** ’

Stiles smiled and set his phone on the counter. He’d reply at a more civilized hour. 

Peter was already waiting outside of the office when Stiles finally stumbled his way downstairs. “Morning,” he said.

“Don’t you have a key?” Stiles yawned, leaning heavily against the door while he fumbled to unlock it.

“Yes, but I don’t have the alarm code,” he said, looking irritated. 

Stiles snorted. “Oops.” He finally go the door open and shuffled to the alarm, which was beeping quietly until he punched in the code. 

“Oh well,” Peter sighed. “Did you two have any appointments for today?” 

“We’re going to see Cira Villafuerte at eleven, try to break her curse.”

His eyes lit with interest. “Really? Do you have any theories about it?”

“Sure. It’s based on the story of Rapunzel and the sorceress who cast it didn’t expect it to last this long. We think we might be able to break it if we treat it like a containment curse.”

“How does that tie into the story of Rapunzel?”

Stiles explained about her hair and the fact that she couldn’t leave.

“Hmm. Well, I suppose you’ll find a way.”

Stiles frowned. “What does that mean? Do you have a theory?” he asked.

Peter shrugged. “No, not really,” he said casually, and went to the desk. 

Stiles stared after him with narrowed eyes. He had the feeling Peter had a theory but wasn’t sharing for…whatever reason. “Look, if you’re trying to teach us a lesson, don’t use a fifteen-year-old girl to-”

Lydia walked in then. “There’s a man coming to tell us about his curse in a half hour,” she announced. She frowned. “What’re you fighting about?”

“Not fighting. Discussing Miss Villafuerte’s curse,” Peter replied smoothly. 

“We’re working on it.” She looked at Stiles. “I’ve got an idea about getting a strand of her hair.”

“Oh?”

“It’s not…fair, but I’ll bet Melinda would get a strand for us.” She set her bag down to take off her coat. “She would, if we said it might break the curse.”

“She would,” Stiles agreed. “And it doesn’t seem fair, you’re right. Cira should be the one to decide…”

Lydia sighed. “She can hate us after we break the curse. Personally, I think she’s more afraid of having the choice to go or stay than actually being afraid of going outside.” She shrugged. “We need to try.”

Stiles nodded. “I agree, but it sucks.”

 

The man who came in thirty minutes later had Peter leaping to his feet, his eyes turning brilliant gold despite his calm expression.

“Can we help you?” he asked pleasantly.

The man twisted his filthy, scratched hands in the hem of his t-shirt, not quite meeting any of their eyes. “I, um, I need help.”

Stiles, who’d been pouring himself a cup of coffee when he walked in, started toward him, automatically sympathetic, but Peter was quite suddenly right beside him, catching his arm and pulling him back a few steps. 

“With what?” Peter demanded. He angled himself slightly, ready to pounce. 

“What are you doing?” Stiles hissed, trying to shake him off.

“My fiancé and I are cursed,” the man mumbled. “We need help.”

“What kind of curse?” Peter asked sharply. “And who _are_ you? Whose pack are you from?”

Stiles stopped struggling so he could gape at him in shock. “Pack? He’s a werewolf?”

“Yes,” Peter said at the same time the man shouted, “No!”

Peter scoffed. “ _Liar._ ” 

The man’s head snapped up. “I am _not_ a liar. I’m not a werewolf, but I know I must smell like one to you.” He sighed. “The curse—I turn into a wolf every night, after the sun sets. That’s _all_ that happens—I can’t control it, my eyes don’t do—that. I’m barely even able to _think_ at night anymore.” He grimaced deeply. “I think I ate someone’s cat,” he whispered hoarsely. 

“Okay,” Stiles said, approaching him after finally shaking Peter’s grip off. “Here, have some coffee, take a seat. What’s your name?” he asked. 

“Dean—um, Dean Nolan,” he mumbled, accepting the coffee Stiles was holding out to him. “Thanks.”

“So the curse turns you into a wolf at night,” Stiles hedged. “Does it…do anything else?”

Dean nodded miserably. “It turns my fiancé into a bird during the day.”

“Oh!” Stiles looked at Peter, brows lifted. Here was another old curse. “How long have you been cursed and do you know who cursed you?”

“A—I think a couple months ago? And it was my fiancé’s ex-girlfriend, um, Amanda Trevil.”

“What kind of bird does your fiancé turn into?” Peter asked thoughtfully.

“Um, a kestrel, I think? I looked it up when we first got cursed, but…”

Stiles texted Lydia. ‘ ** _Cursed guy is here. Day and Night Curse._** ’

Her office door opened seconds after he’d texted. She walked out and seemed to assess the room before looking at Stiles. 

He introduced her, explaining what he’d already been told so Dean didn’t have to repeat himself.

“Unfortunately, Mr. Nolan, we don’t know the exact cure to your curse, but the answers would be in our records. You’re welcome to sit here while Stiles goes to find out what he can. Do you know where your fiancé is?” she asked smoothly.

“Um. Somewhere in the preserve, probably.” 

“I see.” She tipped her head. “What’s your fiancé’s full name?”

“Cassius Walker. Um, he just normally goes by Cas. But I don’t think he’s going to come if you call him,” Dean continued nervously. “I’ve tried. I’m not fully…aware…at night, so I don’t think…”

Lydia smiled. “I’m not going to call for him.” She looked over her shoulder. “Stiles, you don’t mind going to look for the curse in the records?”

“Nope, go ahead.”

“Text me if you find anything we need. I’ll be at the flower shop,” she said significantly, brows lifting.

“Why would you be at the flower shop?” Dean asked hesitantly. 

“Some curses have to be broken with specific flowers or plants,” Stiles said quickly, before Lydia could snap at him.

“Oh.” He twisted the cup around between his palms. “Okay. I’m not—from here, so I don’t really know much about this stuff.”

Lydia left while he was talking, which was fine; Stiles had a deeper well for sympathy than she did, so it was best all-around if he dealt with the client.

“This has to be really weird for you, huh?” Stiles asked, leaning against Peter’s desk.

Peter wasn’t completely relaxed, but he’d unbent enough to get back in his chair.

“Um, yeah. Cas told me about sorceresses and magic and all that stuff a couple years ago, but I didn’t really get what he meant by curses until his ex cursed us.” 

Stiles winced. “Um, aside from the obvious, did she mention why she cursed you guys?” 

Dean’s mouth twisted. “She called it an early wedding gift. That’s all she said.”

“Ugh, sorceresses, they’re-” He stopped himself from saying, _‘so dramatic_ ’, because, considering the situation, that was pretty callous. “Well, you just—sit tight. I’m going to look up your curse.” 

He found it in the blue collections, **F6**. It was called the Day and Night Curse, like he thought, or the Lover’s Punishment, which was just sick. It was meant to keep lovers apart—only one was ever human at a time, except the in-between times: dawn and dusk.

The curse was a piece from each—so a feather and some fur—ground up with a bit of blood from their human selves, mixed with desert rose infused water. They both had to drink the mix at the same time, as humans.

Stiles texted Lydia, who told him to collect the blood from Dean while she got everything else.

“Hey, so, I need your blood,” Stiles announced cheerfully.

Dean looked alarmed, especially when Peter gleefully pulled out a knife and a vial from a drawer. 

“For your curse,” Stiles explained. “To break it, I’m going to need your blood, Cassius’s blood, fur from your wolf form, and a feather from his bird form.”

Dean grimaced. “Really?”

“Afraid so.”

His face was still twisted with disgust, but he nodded. “Alright.”

“Great!”

Peter poured alcohol over the knife, then ran a flame over it for a few seconds. 

“Let me just…” Stiles backed away, averting his gaze. 

“How much blood do you need?” Peter asked.

“Just—just prick his finger,” he replied, squeezing his eyes shut.

“Squeamish?” Dean asked sympathetically. He inhaled sharply—Stiles assumed Peter had stuck him—before saying, “Cas is like that, too. He saw a squirrel after it’d been hit by a car and had to pull over for two hours. We missed our flight.”

“That should be enough,” Peter said, sounding satisfied. “Here, I’ve got a first aid kit.”

Stiles risked opening his eyes. “You do?”

“Stiles, the first day I was here, you cut your hand opening the file cabinet,” Peter said dryly. “Derek also mentioned how clumsy you are, so, yes, I invested in a first aid kit.” He handed a small cotton ball and a band aid to Dean.

Not long after that, Lydia returned with Lexa in tow. She was doing magic, Stiles could tell, because she wasn’t blinking and when she walked in, the hair on his arms and the back of his neck rose like she was electrically charged. 

Just behind them, a small falcon flew in, perching on the back of the couch. Lydia let the door fall closed and held up a feather. 

“Well,” Stiles huffed.

“Cas? Is that-?”

“Cassius Walker,” Lexa said in a weird, guttural voice, “Montre votre nou vrai sui.”

The little bird shuddered, wings stretching out and flapping in panic, before he fell off the back of the couch.

Dean gasped and lurched forward, but he’d only made it a step before his skin seemed to ripple and he collapsed too, yelping in pain as his bones crackled and shifted, crunching painfully.

“It doesn’t sound like that when you guys change,” Stiles said, horrified.

“That’s because we’re meant to,” Peter said. He stepped around Stiles and knelt next to Dean, placing a hand on his shoulder. Black lines spread up his hand to his arm.

Dean gasped through jaws that were still flesh-colored but wolf-shaped as Peter leeched some of his pain.

Behind the couch, the bird was making noises, too, which were slowly getting more human.

By the time Dean was a sandy-brown wolf, a dark haired man stood up from behind the couch, shivering and, apparently, naked, his lower half conveniently hidden by the couch.

Dean growled, anxious, and backed up, his teeth bared. 

“Can’t hold this for long,” Lexa said. Sweat was beading on her forehead and she still hadn’t blinked. “The curse—one of them has to be an animal while the other is human.”

“Give me the knife and a vial, Stiles,” Lydia said, but Dean was blocking the desk, still snarling.

Peter growled back, his own fangs and eyes flashing, until Dean lowered himself to his belly, whimpering.

“What’s going on?” Cassius asked in a shaky voice. He looked toward the door and then at Lydia and visibly relaxed. “Dean finally found someone to help.” He squinted a little. “You took a feather.”

“We need your blood,” Stiles said quickly; Lexa was starting to look a little pale.

Peter crossed the room with a fresh vial and the sterilized knife.

Cassius held his hand out, only wincing a little when Peter pricked his finger. He carefully kept his gaze away from the blood. “What else?” he asked while Peter prodded the blood into the vial.

“Adenium infused water, and, um, you guys have to drink this at the same time—oh, god, Peter, get some fur from Dean!” Stiles gasped, remembering. 

Peter held up a baggie while still collecting the blood. “Already got it.”

Stiles sighed, leaning against the wall. “Thanks.”

“How’re we supposed to drink this at the same time?” Cassius asked. “And will it _taste_ like blood?” He looked to where Dean was crouched by the desk. “I guess it doesn’t matter.”

“Twilight. Before either of you turns back,” Lydia said, helping Lexa stay on her feet.

“When?” Cassius asked, pressing his bleeding finger against his stomach. 

“As soon as possible. Tonight.” Stiles looked around, slightly frantic. “I can call my dad. Maybe we can—get animal control to bring us a cage?” He winced. “Sorry.”

Cassius shook his head. “I don’t care about being in a cage, I just want-” he choked, bending double. Feathers pushed through the skin of his back, the crackle of bones making everyone cringe. 

Stiles darted down the halls to close all the doors so he couldn’t get in them. 

By the time he made it back to the front, Cassius was perched on the couch again, Lexa was sitting on the floor sipping a bottle of water, and Dean had pulled his clothes back on. He was watching the bird intensely, like he could see the man beneath the feathers. 

“We can break the curse,” Stiles said. “We have everything you need.”

“But he needs to be human, doesn’t he?” Dean asked tersely. 

“Dusk,” Lydia said. “Animal control is on the way. We can put him in a bird cage until dusk when you two are human at the same time and you can drink the mixture.”

“You’re putting him in a _cage?_ ”

“He said he didn’t care,” Stiles said quickly. “As long as we could break the curse.”

“Fine.” He shook his head and crossed his arms.

“I can get the water from Heather,” Lexa mumbled. “She’s got adenium.”

“You need to rest a little more,” Lydia replied. “Besides, none of us are going anywhere until animal control arrives. We don’t want him getting out.”

Animal Control Officer Williams showed up a mere five minutes later, carting a bird cage and a net.

“He hasn’t moved,” Lydia informed her. “I think for the first few minutes of his transformation, he remembers.”

“Maybe he’ll get in the cage on his own,” Officer Williams said doubtfully.

Dean mumbled something about the bathroom and walked down the hall.

Some part of Cassius must have been aware because, despite it being difficult, it only took about fifteen minutes to corral him into the cage. Officer Williams found that to be an impressive amount of time. 

“It’s terrible but I hate being called about birds,” she admitted, pulling her dark ponytail through her ball cap. It’d come loose when she’d been chasing Cassius. “They’re the most difficult, and I just had to get a _very_ angry, very wet possum out of a family’s gross, uncleaned pool.” 

Lexa snorted.

“Thanks for coming,” Stiles said gratefully.

She smiled. “My pleasure. My other option was a furious mama cat under Thomas Foster’s back porch, so…” She shrugged. “Need any more help?”

“Nope, we’re all set.”

“Alrighty. See you all later.” She waved cheerfully on her way out, swinging her net jauntily. 

“She’s got four dogs, three kids, and a duck at home,” Lexa said. “Why does she have more energy than me?”

“It’s early,” Stiles said sympathetically.

Lydia scoffed. “It isn’t anymore.” She checked the time. “We have to get going soon, actually. Lexa, if you could get the water and bring it here? And, Peter, please keep an eye on the office, and Mr. Nolan, and put the mixture together.”

“Yes.” He glanced toward the hallway, where Dean had disappeared. “I can do that.”

They devised a strategy on the drive; Lydia would administer each different cure, distracting Cira, while Stiles talked to Melinda about getting a strand of her hair.

Stiles thought it was a good one. It just sucked that they couldn’t just get the hair from Cira herself.

He checked his text messages as Lydia navigated.

Scott had let him know he was heading to the Hale place, and Derek had texted him good morning, followed by ‘ ** _Scott just got here. We’re all going to Hill Park in a few._** ’

‘ ** _Cool,_** ’ he replied. ‘ ** _Send pictures!_** ’

He wasn’t sure he could ever _truly_ explain why he always wanted pictures, aside from having something to look back on when memories got blurry with time, but luckily Derek’s aunt was Laini Hale, so he didn’t even question it.

“Alright,” Lydia said as she parked at the curb outside the Villafuerte house. “Remember to keep away from Cira’s room.” 

“Got it.” He tucked his phone away and unbuckled his seatbelt. 

“Good. She might hesitate, but remind her these probably won’t work.” Lydia bent to get the tub of flowers and bottles she’d stored in the backseat.

“I’ll handle it.”

She nodded and marched up the driveway.

Melinda was waiting for them with pan dulce, eggs, and chorizo at the small breakfast table near the bay window, which simplified things.

“I know you probably ate already, but I thought if you were hungry, you could have something,” she said with a tense smile.

“No, thank you. I just ate breakfast,” Lydia said graciously.

“I, for one, am always hungry,” Stiles said. “I could eat.”

“Great,” she said brightly. “Here, take a plate.”

“I’m going to get started with Cira, if you don’t mind.”

Melinda nodded. “Sure, go ahead. She’s in her bedroom.” 

Lydia smiled briefly and left the room, cutting her gaze significantly toward Stiles before she turned into the hallway.

Melinda scooped some eggs and chorizo onto Stiles’s plate, gesturing at him to take a seat. “I take it you want to talk to me without Cira hearing.”

Stiles chocked on a chunk of chorizo; Melinda smiled. “You’re perceptive,” he managed. 

She smiled again. “What is it? What do you need?”

Stiles sighed. “Well, we’re trying to break it by treating it like a containment curse right now, but we really don’t think those cures will work. We think we need a strand of Cira’s hair.”

Melinda blew out a long breath, slowly lowering herself into the chair across from him. “I see.”

“Do you?” Stiles asked hesitantly.

“I’ll have to take it, if she won’t agree.” She nodded. “I understand.” She studied his face. “It’s a betrayal of her trust. I know.”

Stiles lifted his hands. “Sometimes that’s what it takes. The Cursed—sometimes they think it’s better, hiding things or staying where they are, but…” He sighed. “But sometimes you just have to do the one thing they don’t want you to do.” He swallowed thickly, remembering his own betrayal of Derek and the mini-pack’s trust. None of them had been mad at him, and he had needed to know, but he still felt bad about it sometimes. 

“Just a single strand of hair?” Melinda asked, breaking up a piece of pan dulce with nervous fingers.

“It’s plenty long enough to make multiple cures,” Stiles said steadily.

“I’ll do it. I—not today. She’s going to be flustered and upset about this, but over the weekend, I can…” She clenched her hands together. “I can do it over the weekend.”

“Great.” Stiles leaned forward, prompted by the hopeful look on her face. “We don’t know for sure if it’ll work, but it’s more likely than anything we’re trying today.”

“I understand.” She smiled. “Eat up.” She picked up the pan dulce she’d been crushing and nibbled it. “Are you doing anything fun for tomorrow?”

“I’m going to my boyfriend’s family’s house—me and my dad, actually, and my best friend and his mom—we’re all going for dinner.”

“Oh, that’ll be a party,” she said wistfully. 

Stiles clamped down hard on the urge to invite her along—it would just be cruel; she wouldn’t want to leave Cira alone. “Maybe by December you guys can come out for a holiday party,” he said instead.

“That would be lovely,” she said with a sad smile, like she didn’t believe they would make it.

 

Unsurprisingly, none of the cures worked. Cira looked unfazed, maybe a little bit relieved, as she dragged her wet hair out to the living room. Most of it was looped around her arm and shoulder like a rope.

“We have to dry it thoroughly,” she admitted, “or it gets…gross.”

“Well, we’ll just get out of your way. Sorry we failed.”

Cira shrugged. “No big deal. I knew you would.”

Lydia’s brows rose, but she didn’t say anything until they got outside. “Let’s go get lunch,” she sighed. “I just need to—ugh. That just really sucked. I need to…”

“Decompress?” Stiles suggesting.

“Yes.”

“Okay. Let me drive.”

She looked skeptical, but handed him the keys when he held his hand out.

He grinned. 

 

Stiles got enough food to feed a small army and headed to the park. Luckily, Hill Park was halfway between the office and Cira’s house. Stiles called Peter and told him to just lock up the office with the “gone to lunch” sign on the door. 

“Hey!” Scott called when he spotted them getting out of Lydia’s car. He was at the top of a slide, clearly about to race Lucy to the bottom.

“Hey! We brought lunch!”

Erica and Casey, who’d been on the monkey bars, instantly dropped to the dirt and ran to help them. 

Boyd and Isaac did not get up to help; they just stayed on the swings with Emily, judging from afar.

Peter pulled up after they’d set the food on a picnic table. Casey raced to him and started chattering about what Scott had done on the swings and how _Lucy_ beat him in a race. 

“Where’s Mr. Nolan?” Lydia asked sharply.

“He’s sleeping on the couch in the office. I figured he’d be fine. He was exhausted.” Peter shrugged. 

“You know he’s only like three years older than us, right? You don’t _have_ to call him _Mr. Nolan,_ ” Stiles teased, passing a napkin to Emily.

Lydia began, “It’s unprofessional to-”

“But it feels more like we care if we call them by name,” he pointed out quickly.

She scowled at him.

Derek came up behind him, setting tentative hands on his waist. “Hi.”

“Hi.” He pulled on Derek’s hands until his arms were wrapped around his waist. “How’s it goin’?”

Derek nuzzled the side of his neck, lips grazing the skin gently. “Good. Great, now.” He kissed the edge of Stiles’s jaw. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” He leaned back, relaxing against him while Lydia made herself a sandwich. 

“How was your morning?”

“Eventful.” He held up a plate, so Derek reluctantly released him to take it.

“Really? What happened?”

Stiles grinned and pulled him down on the bench to sit beside him and, while they ate, he and Lydia told them about Dean Nolan’s curse, with occasional input from Peter. 

After they finished, Scott and the kids told them about their day, which included watching Scott get gifts from crows that had spotted him, before they all left for the park, except Mikaela, who’d stayed home to hang out with her parents. 

Talia had let them use her car since not everyone could fit in Stiles’s jeep when Isaac, Boyd, and Erica also decided to join them.

“Why do the birds like you so much?” Lucy asked, leaning closer to Scott and sneaking a potato chip from his plate. 

“Uh, I’m not really sure,” Scott admitted, shrugging. “I understand them, I guess.”

Stiles gave Isaac, Boyd, and Erica a significant look. “Told you,” he said.

“Told them what?” Scott demanded, spraying bread crumbs—thankfully only on his own plate. 

“That you were basically a Disney princess.”

Scott considered. “Which one?” he asked shrewdly. 

“Maybe Cinderella?” Casey suggested. “She had animal friends. Oh, or Rapunzel?” She looked at Emily, who shrugged. 

“Maybe.”

Boyd tugged at the end of her hair. “What’s up?” he asked.

She shrugged again. “Nothin’,” she mumbled.

Boyd glanced at Derek, who shook his head, confused. 

Lucy looked down at her lap, a frown puckering her face. 

“Are you going to stay, Stiles?” Cora asked, leaning around Derek to smile at him. She had mustard on her chin.

Derek laughed and wiped it off with his own napkin, making her turn fiery red.

“Uh, maybe for a little while, before we go back to the office.” He grinned over at Lydia. “Wanna swing?”

She rolled her eyes. “Sure, Stiles. We can swing.”

He leaned his head on Derek’s shoulder. “We can take turns,” he said, making Derek laugh awkwardly. 

“Derek doesn’t like to swing,” Cora said, still slightly red. 

Stiles laughed. “Why not?” he asked, sitting up.

“It’s not really-” 

“Laura was pushing him once and she spun him around so much that he got sick,” she said gleefully. 

“Cora!” Derek protested, his own face flushing.

Stiles laughed and patted his arm. “I promise not to spin you.” 

“It’s not you I’m worried about,” he muttered, glowering at Cora. 

Stiles put his arm around Derek’s shoulders. “Don’t worry, I’ll protect you.”

He relaxed and leaned in, brushing their cheeks together sweetly.

Cora huffed in disgust and sat back, focusing on her plate with a pout.

Emily rolled her eyes so hard her head moved with them.

Scott and Isaac led the charge to the swings, but Scott had to use his inhaler when he got there, which made everyone nervous. 

“I’m alright,” he promised, waving them off. “I’m going to sit on this bench for a sec, though.”

Stiles shot Derek an apologetic look and went to sit with Scott; Derek was apparently scared enough of the swings to immediately split off to go to the slides with Emily. “You okay?” Stiles asked, sitting beside Scott.

“Yeah. Just the cold.” He shrugged and zipped his jacket up a little further. 

“Maybe you should all go to a movie or something indoors,” Stiles suggested. “You could go bowling.”

Scott grimaced. “I suck at bowling.”

“Everyone sucks at bowling,” Stiles pointed out.

“Yeah, but I _really_ suck at bowling.”

A big, black bird landed at their feet, startling them.

It dropped a bottle cap by Scott’s shoe and stared up at him. 

“Thank you,” he said kindly, and picked it up.

The bird, apparently taking that as an invitation, hopped up to rest on Scott’s knee. 

“That will never cease to be awesome,” Stiles said. “I don’t get it.”

Scott shrugged and stroked the bird’s feathers, straightening them while it gazed at him with adoration.

Stiles frowned. “Do you think you could get a feather from him?”

“Her,” Scott corrected. “Why?”

“For a curse. I thought of something and—if not, it’s okay.”

Scott looked at the bird. “May I?” he asked, still stroking her feathers.

She let out a soft trill, which apparently made sense to Scott, because he worked a feather loose very carefully and passed it to Stiles. 

“Come on, we’ve got some ham left over that you might enjoy,” he said conversationally, allowing the bird to hop onto his shoulder when he stood up.

Stiles watched him walk back to the table. He’d seen Scott do similar things all their lives, so it wasn’t that strange to him, but sometimes he remembered that wild animals don’t act like that, no matter how friendly a person is. 

Scott just understood them, Stiles guessed, just like he said. 

Stiles looked up when Derek sat beside him. He smiled. “Hey.”

“Hi. We’d like to go bowling,” he said with a sigh. “Lucy was eavesdropping. We don’t want to keep Scott out here if he’ll get sick. Cora, Casey, Isaac, Emily, and Lucy voted,” he added with a quick smile. 

“Thank you.” Stiles leaned his forehead against Derek’s shoulder. “He’s just a little, um, sensitive after all the smoke and stuff in July.” 

“It’s okay. Bowling will be fun. And warm. Emily’s freezing.” He tentatively put his arm around Stiles’s shoulders, drawing him closer. “Do you guys have to leave soon?”

Stiles sighed. “Yeah, unfortunately. But in a few hours I’ll be done, so we can all do something, if you want.” 

“Maybe we can take Laura and Simon?”

“Yeah. We can go see a movie or go out to dinner or something.”

“Thanks.” He pressed a quick, sweet kiss to the back of Stiles’s head, making him smile. 

 

Dean was awake when they returned, his legs curled up under him. He’d cleaned the dirt off his hands and face in the bathroom at some point.

“We brought sandwiches,” Stiles said brightly, holding out the bag.

“Thank you,” he mumbled. 

“Hey, by the time the sun’s down, your curse will be broken,” Stiles said. “That’s good!” 

Dean shook himself. “Yes, I know. I just—hope it works.” 

Lydia checked the bottles Peter had put the mixture into, grimacing slightly at the color.

“Where is Mr. Walker?” she asked.

“I put him in Stiles’s office,” Peter said delicately.

Lydia pursed her lips but didn’t reply. 

They filled their afternoon with walk-ins, of which there were five relatively easy-to-break curses. Stiles went to get a sweater and sweatpants from his apartment after the last one. 

By the time they’d finished, it was almost sunset. Peter went and retrieved Cassius from Stiles’s office while Dean clutched his bottle with white-knuckled hands. 

“What time does he usually change?” Lydia asked.

“I don’t know the exact time—we get maybe a minute to see each other.” 

“It can’t hurt to let him out early,” Stiles said. “As long as no one opens the door, we should be fine.”

She sighed. “Alright.”

Peter pulled the latch on the bird cage, holding the door open until Cassius shot out, chittering angrily.

Stiles kept close to the desk, worried he would knock the bottle over or something. 

As it darkened outside, Cassius stopped what he was doing—which was flying and walking around in nervous circles—and landed in the middle of the floor. He clicked his beak together anxiously and flapped his wings.

His body started to ripple, bones crackling.

It was grotesque, watching the man emerge from the bird, and Stiles had to look away, mouth twisting at the noises. 

Finally, with a shuddering gasp, both men were human, staring at each other with big, longing eyes; it was seriously like watching a romantic drama in person. 

“Enough,” Lydia snapped. “Have your tender moment later.” She swiped the bottle off the desk and pushed it into Cassius’s hand. “Drink. Now. Both of you.” 

They clasped their free hands together and drank.

While they did, Stiles grabbed the clothes he’d brought down and just sort of held them until they finished the last of the mixture.

“That was terrible,” Cassius gasped. He turned red when he realized there was no conveniently placed couch this time. 

“Here,” Stiles said, stepping forward quickly. 

“Thanks.” He pulled the pants on first, then the shirt, all without looking at Dean once, as if he didn’t want to see if the cure worked or not. 

“Cas,” he said quietly. He was looking at his hands; it was almost fully dark outside. “Cas!” He grabbed him around the waist and lifted him in a crushing hug. 

Stiles turned away so the two could have an illusion of privacy for their reunion; Lydia looked down at her phone and Peter walked to the desk. 

“Thank you,” Dean said, still breathing sort of unevenly from the frantic kisses they’d shared. 

“How much do we owe you?” Cas asked. His arms were locked tight around Dean’s waist. 

Stiles looked at Lydia helplessly. 

“Come to my office,” she said. “We’ll talk.” 

Peter drove them home when Lydia had finished with them.

“I tried to tell them we wouldn’t accept payment, but Cassius insisted. Dean backed him up when he could look away from him.” 

Stiles grinned. “You thought they were cute, didn’t you?”

She sniffed. “Scott’s outside trying to be subtle and sneak up on you. Let’s close up and get home.”

“You sure? It’s still pretty early.”

“Yeah. That was enough for today.”

He smiled to himself; she totally thought they were cute. “Did you decide if we’re opening tomorrow?”

She nodded. “I don’t think we should. Most people stay home, so there’s less of a chance of them getting cursed.” 

“Alright. See you Friday.”

“Okay.”

Scott was indeed outside with Stiles’s jeep, trying to scare him by standing beside the door. 

“How did you know?” he demanded. 

“Lydia told me,” Stiles snickered. “You can’t sneak up on-” He yelped loudly when Isaac came up behind him and shouted, startling him. “Dammit! Two on one isn’t fair!” 

Scott and Isaac were too busy laughing to listen to him scolding them.

“Okay, yes, it was super hilarious, can we get in the car now?”

“Don’t be mad,” Scott laughed. “It was too easy. Everyone knows I can’t sneak worth a crap.”

“We can go play laser tag,” Isaac said, leaning his chin on Stiles’s shoulder. “With Derek, Simon, Laura, Erica, and Boyd. Will you come?”

“Yeah,” he sighed. “Let’s go get something to eat first, though.” 

“Talia wants us to eat dinner with them today. They ordered pizzas so the kitchen is open for cooking and stuff.” 

“Well, cool. Okay.”

“Just so you know, we took the sheriff a sandwich and coffee before we went bowling,” Scott said cheerfully as he hopped in the passenger seat.

“Thank you.” 

“He told us to tell you to stop feeling guilty and that he’d see you tomorrow,” Isaac piped up from the backseat. 

Stiles snorted. “I really am getting predictable,” he mused. 

Ethan and Laini were absent when they got to the Hale house, but Talia just laughed it off as Ethan being offended by fast food. 

Cora, Casey, Emily, and Lucy were upset they couldn’t go with the older guys to laser tag, but Mikaela saved the pack a lot of whining by saying it was like a sleepover and they could maybe bake some cookies or watch _The Avengers_ , which was the newest fad in the Hale house. Stiles thought that was pretty awesome. 

“We can fit,” Laura insisted, eyeing Stiles’s jeep.

“Take my car,” Peter sighed.

Stiles flinched; he hadn’t even known Peter was home.

“But Boyd’s driving,” he added, handing him the keys. 

Derek hugged him. “Thanks,” he said against his shoulder. 

Peter looked surprised, but pleased. “You’re welcome.”

 

So, werewolves should never be allowed to play laser tag. They played in teams of four, with a human on each team, but it was hell. They could see perfectly well and even if they hadn’t been able to, Derek managed to track Simon down to help Stiles get him back for shooting him right out of the gate by scent _alone._

They could _smell_ everyone. The music and sound effects apparently dulled their hearing, but that was just the _one_ sense. 

Simon shouted in outrage when Stiles shot him, so he grabbed Derek’s hand to run back to Boyd and Laura. 

“No, no, we have to split up,” Laura cried. “We’re just sitting here waiting for them to corner us!”

“This was my spot first,” Boyd said, leaning back to look through a window opening. He let out a soft _ha_ and shot. 

Erica snarled, “Fuck!” and went running for cover.

“Let’s go up the ramp,” Stiles suggested, bouncing on the balls of his feet.

“Can’t. Scott and Isaac are guarding it.”

He grinned at Derek. “Then stay behind me and shoot at them.”

Stiles led the way up the ramp to the second level, right out in the open while Derek walked carefully behind him, hunched down to keep his vest protected. 

Stiles tried to hit Scott, but Isaac got him first; his vest vibrated and flashed with the hit, intoning, “Shields up!”

“Wait—” Scott began, too late; Derek had already straightened enough to shoot him over Stiles’s shoulder. 

He ducked before Isaac could retaliate, and together they ran into the base on the second floor. 

“Awesome.” Stiles held his hand up for a high-five.

Derek grabbed him by the vest and yanked him forward, pressing a hard kiss to his mouth.

“Wow,” Stiles said breathlessly. “Wanna play paintball next?”

Derek laughed and kissed him again, barely even flinching when Simon shot his vest from the opening.

 

They got ice cream after they played, in an effort to cool down. While they ate, Laura told a family reunion story about bouncy houses, soap, and a hose.

“Well, it seemed like the most logical answer, you know? All sixteen kids and the bouncy houses were just caked with mud, so Mom got the hose and sprayed us down while Dad tossed some soap in for good measure. Derek slipped right down the middle and chipped Simon’s tooth while our third cousin Rachel laughed.” 

Simon obligingly lifted his lip to show the chipped tooth to the right of the front two.

“Huh. Wouldn’t your healing have fixed that?” Stiles asked, accidentally spattering his shirt with raspberry cheesecake ice cream. 

“It’s weird, because when Mikaela tripped down the stairs and knocked out a tooth, it grew back, but this never did.” Simon shrugged and stuck his spoon in Derek’s bowl, stealing a bite of his strawberry ice cream. 

He grinned when Derek protested.

“Well, that’s just weird,” Stiles decided. 

Simon shrugged again. “It doesn’t bother me.”

“Yeah, it isn’t even noticeable with everything else going on with your face,” Laura said diplomatically, making Erica and Isaac snort into their own ice cream.

“Rude!” Stiles exclaimed.

“Plus, look who’s talking,” Simon pointed out and grabbed her ears, making her shriek.

The cashier looked nervous, so Scott smiled at her reassuringly. 

“She’s going to kick us out if you guys don’t stop acting stupid,” Stiles hissed.

“ _You’re_ stupid,” Laura shot back.

“Don’t call him stupid, stupid.” Simon flicked her forehead.

“Oh my god. Boyd, switch seats with Simon, please, and Scott, can you sit between Boyd and Laura?”

“Sure.”

Once they’d shuffled and Derek was done laughing at their expense, they got to enjoy their ice cream.

“You guys are spending the night, right?” Simon asked as they were leaving.

“What?”

“Well, you’re going to be over all day for Thanksgiving anyway,” Laura pointed out. “Why not just spend the night?”

Stiles looked around for Scott’s opinion, but he was petting a stray cat, feeding it pieces of a cereal bar, and was no help.

“Uh…” He looked at Derek. 

For a moment, his expression was hopeful, eager, but when Stiles looked, he cleared it away with an easy, mildly curious expression. 

“Sure. We just have to stop by the apartment for our clothes.”

“Yes! Let’s go.”

Talia didn’t mind them spending the night; she seemed excited, actually, and Dominick was, too, until Laura revealed a vase of white roses she’d put in his room.

Cora rolled her eyes as she came up behind her parents. “You would think he’d stop rising to the bait.”

Talia just smiled. “We’re going to be up early tomorrow, cooking, just so everyone knows. Stiles, John said he’d be here by eleven am, and Scott, your mother should be here by seven—she wants to help with the cooking.” 

“Great,” Scott said enthusiastically. “We’ll help.”

Stiles elbowed him. “I will help. Scott can set the table and play a game with the others who are kitchen-challenged.” 

“Then Peter will join him,” Ethan said, bumping into Talia lightly. He looked excited about something, his eyes bright and a little wide, hands jittering against his legs. 

“You okay?” Simon asked cautiously. 

Talia elbowed him in a mirror of Stiles’s move. “He’s fine. You know how he likes cooking. Thanksgiving is his favorite holiday.”

“Riiight.” Simon’s eyes remained narrowed. “Well, I’m going to shower.”

“No you aren’t,” Erica said sweetly, and bolted. 

“Erica!” he protested, chasing her up the stairs. 

Stiles put his arm around Derek’s waist. “Wanna go to sleep?” he asked, yawning.

“Yeah. Um, Scott can stay in my room, too, if he—if you want,” he said.

Scott smiled. “Nah, I don’t mind bunking with Isaac or on the couch.” 

“We have spare rooms, boys,” Talia said dryly.

Dominick came back with an armful of clean, folded sheets. “We don’t mind. Whichever you want to use.” He had a white petal in his hair.

Talia noticed and plucked it out, tapping his nose with it. 

“That’s okay,” Isaac said. “He can sleep in the room—in my room,” he corrected when Talia lifted her brows. “Erica and Boyd were planning on coming, too, so we can watch a movie?” 

“Alright. Whatever you’re all comfortable with.” She elbowed Dominick lightly. “We’re going to bed now.”

“Are you?” Ethan asked. “I couldn’t.”

Talia rolled her eyes. “I bet Laini will _love_ for you to stay up all night and leave her with so much to do tomorrow.”

He looked instantly and disproportionately guilty. “Oh. Right.” He absently patted at everyone he could reach. “G’night, see you tomorrow.”

Dominick grinned. “Have you all hear-”

“No they have not,” Talia interjected hastily. 

“How much coffee did Uncle Ethan _have_?” Casey asked, wide eyed.

“None,” Talia replied. “Come on, it’s your bedtime.”

“It’s only _eleven,_ ” Casey protested. “You know, I’m supposed to be eighteen now, so _technically_ —” She hesitated when Dominick shook his head, a hard look on his face, but Derek already slumped guilty, subtly pulling away from Stiles. 

Stiles tightened his grip. 

“Oh.” Casey flushed bright red. “Oh. Um. Goodnight.” She took off.

Dominick rubbed his eyes.

“I’ll go,” Talia said quietly. “Derek, I love you. Sleep well, everyone.” 

Laura looked at Derek worriedly. “You okay?” 

“Yep. Fine. I’m just—gonna go to bed.” He looked at Stiles a bit pleadingly. “You –you don’t have to—”

Stiles scoffed. “Der. Come on. Let’s go to sleep.”

He sighed quietly, the tense line of his shoulders relaxing, and he led the way up to his bedroom.

Derek’s room hadn’t survived the fire—one of the flaming branches had been directly under it—but since he’d outgrown just about everything in there anyway, Stiles thought it getting remodeled was a good thing.

He had a bigger bed, new clothes, a new desk, and bookshelf. 

The only decorations he had were pictures Laini had given him and colored pages torn out of coloring books that Casey had given him. 

Lucy, impatient as always, scribbled all over the page when she colored, which made Casey crazy, so it was not an activity they shared. 

Derek shuffled to the closet for his pajamas while Stiles changed by the door.

“I’m gonna go brush my teeth,” he called quietly. “You okay?”

“Yeah.”

He hesitated, then figured the sooner he went, the sooner he could get back, and left.

Laura was brushing her teeth, too, but she moved over to let him in. 

It was awkward. Laura stared as she brushed her teeth. 

Stiles tried to just—focus on brushing.

“Simon thinks Derek doesn’t spend enough time at home,” she said, grabbing the bottle of mouthwash. “Because he sleeps at your place so much.”

Stiles, his mouth filled with toothpaste foam and his toothbrush, only managed to look at her with wide eyes as he sputtered.

She patted his shoulder, “ _I_ think you two are good together. And it’s not like you’re keeping Derek away from us.” She laughed at his expression, kissed his cheek, and left. 

When he returned to Derek’s room, Derek was sitting on the edge of the bed, a bit of toothpaste caught in the stubble on his cheek. 

Stiles swallowed a laugh and approached him, using the edge of his shirt to wipe it off. “Missed some,” he said steadily. 

“You can laugh,” Derek said with a small smile. “I can tell you want to.”

“How?” he asked, sitting beside him on the bed. “Is it your super awesome werewolf senses?”

Now Derek laughed, leaning his head on Stiles’s shoulder. “No, it’s because even though you keep your face straight, your eyes light up.”

“Oh.” He snorted. “Paying close attention, are we?” 

Derek smiled again. “Yes.”

A pleased flush warmed Stiles’s cheeks. “That’s nice to hear.” He ran his hand up and down Derek’s back. “Ready for bed?”

“Yes.”

Stiles wiggled down under the covers while Derek got the lights—it was always safer to let Derek get the lights, as he was less likely to trip and maim himself in the dark—and shuffled back to the bed.

“Goodnight,” he murmured, sliding into bed. He slipped his arm around Stiles’s waist and put his head on his chest.

“G’night,” he mumbled, already half asleep. “Love you.”

Derek hummed softly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you thought!! :) I love hearing from people! ^^ 
> 
> What Lexa said was just a mixture of words translated to different languages. It was something along the lines of "show us your true self". :D
> 
> Gosh why are all these chapters so LONG?? wHY HAVE I DONE THIS? I'm so sorry. I hope you enjoy.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surprising posting! I have finished writing this fic, so I figured I'd post this chapter as a little celebration for myself! :D 
> 
> After this, I'll be posting on Mondays and Thursdays until it's finished! Hope you enjoy!

By noon the next day, the windows were open throughout the house to let some cool air in, since the kitchen was stifling and filled with people.

Ethan, Simon, and Melissa were doing most of the heavy lifting—cooking wise, anyway—but everyone was pitching in where they were able.

Scott had all the kitchen-challenged people in the living room playing Apples to Apples, including John, who tentatively had the day off because he was working the night shift. 

He’d brought six pies to contribute, much to Casey’s delight—her sweet tooth was a little scary. She insisted on sitting beside John while they played. Stiles suspected she smelled a sucker. She was right; Stiles saw John slip her, Lucy, and Emily some candy while he was saying hello to everyone.

Cora wanted to help Stiles while he was helping in the kitchen. It was a nice gesture, but she didn’t really know how to cook, so she mostly just got in the way.

“Cora!” Simon snapped after bumping into her for the third time. “Get out!”

“I want to help!” she protested, moving closer to Stiles. “Tell him I’m helping,” she pleaded, plucking at his sleeve.

“Ah…she can take this to the living room for me,” Stiles said quickly, holding out the tray of cheese, crackers, and summer sausage he’d been prepping. 

She shot Simon a smug look and carried it out.

Simon sighed. “Thanks.”

“I don’t know why she wants to cook with me so badly.” He shrugged, though he was still slightly confused by it.

Laura snorted. “You don’t?”

He frowned at her. “Nooo….” He looked around when Dominick let out a little cough that sounded suspiciously like a laugh. “What? Why’re you laughing?”

He just shook his head and kept mixing the cranberry sauce he was making. “Never mind. Why don’t you go play Apples to Apples with everyone else? We’ve got it covered.”

Ethan chuckled, and Melissa kissed his cheek on the way out, her eyes gleaming with amusement. So she knew what they were laughing at, too.

Stiles sighed and threw his hands up, laughing a little himself. Whatever it was, they clearly found it funny.

“Stiles! Sit by me,” Erica said when he walked in, scooting closer to Boyd to make room around the coffee table.

“There’s room over here!” Cora called, shoving Casey.

Casey shoved her back, knocking her into Peter, who rolled his eyes and pushed her back up.

Stiles lifted his brows and sat between Derek and Scott. “Hey.” He bumped his shoulder against Scott’s; for whatever reason, that made him jump. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” he muttered. “It’s Boyd’s turn.”

Peter passed Stiles some cards so he could participate. 

Derek leaned against his side, making him smile. “Hey.”

“Hi.” He turned and leaned in; he was surprised when Derek closed the distance quickly and kissed him, long and deep. “Good afternoon to you, too.”

Boyd sighed loudly. “The word is _Shiny_.” 

Stiles snorted, checking his cards. He had nothing he would deem shiny, so, with an eye roll, he tossed a random card into the pile that was forming.

 

Somehow, Melissa, Ethan, and Simon managed to time it so that all the food was done at three in the afternoon, which was perfect, because cheese and crackers weren’t going to cut it for long.

Stiles got seated between Cora and Derek; Scott was across from him with Melissa on his right and John on his left. 

“Okay, before we eat, Laini and I have some news,” Ethan blurted, practically bouncing in his seat. He looked at Laini, beaming.

She grinned. “I’m sure some of you guessed, but for the younger guys and the less sensitive noses, I’m pregnant.”

Congratulations and cheers rose up across the table; Derek looked positively thrilled.

Emily, on the other hand, was glaring at her plate, enough that Laini noticed and leaned in to talk to her.

“When’s the due date?” Melissa asked.

“June 21st,” Ethan said, his face still glowing.

“Oh, man, summer kid, like Laura? We’re doomed.” Simon rolled his eyes.

“Shut-up.” Laura threw a napkin at him.

“All of you shut-up, don’t throw things, and start eating,” Talia said, also rolling her eyes. She and Laura really did look a lot alike. When everyone had settled, focusing on their food, she leaned in to talk to John. “Just so you know, we’re trying to get some fake papers—birth certificates, licenses, that sort of thing. Just for official records, since the whole town knows the truth. I want to get the kids back in school soon.”

He nodded. “Not that I approve of forged documents,” he said, casting a long, hard glance over the table; Simon grinned at him. “But in this case, yeah, I get it. Being eight years younger than your ID says you are is a bit of a hindrance.”

“Great. I have to actually go get them from my friend when he’s done making them, so I’ll keep you posted.”

“Derek’s going with,” Dominick said unexpectedly.

“He is?” Stiles grinned at him. “That’ll be fun!”

He smiled tightly. “Yeah.”

Talia’s brow creased. “Yes. We should be going in two weeks. We’ll be driving.”

“Why can’t I come?” Laura demanded.

Peter heaved a sigh, reaching around her to get the mashed potatoes. “Because you need to make sure we don’t kill each other while Talia’s gone.”

Dominick rolled his eyes.

“Where are you going?” Stiles asked. Where did one _go_ to get forged papers?

“I have a contact in New York who can make us professional-grade papers, but he doesn’t like to mail them.”

“New York?”

She nodded. “It’ll be a long drive.” She flicked her gaze toward Derek and smiled. 

“Ah. Sounds fun. Just a—a mom and son road trip to get forged documents for the whole family. Totally Lifetime movie about family bonding. It’s-”

“Stiles, stop,” John said, one hand over his eyes.

He held up his own hands. “Sorry.” He grinned. “So, this turkey is _awesome_.”

“As is the weather,” Simon said in a monotone before cracking up.

Laura threw another napkin at him. 

Scott, Isaac, and Stiles cleared the table while the others who hadn’t helped cook were in the kitchen cleaning up. Derek and Boyd were supervising. 

Isaac bumped into Scott while trying to get a plate and jumped about a mile high. “Uh—I’m just gonna take these,” he mumbled, fleeing with all of three plates. 

Stiles frowned. “Dude. What is going _on?_ ” 

Scott glanced over his shoulder toward the kitchen. “Later,” he mumbled, his face flushed. 

“Is everything okay?”

“Yeah. It’s…fine.” He grabbed up all the silverware and bolted. 

Stiles shook his head, following him.

Erica pounced on him as soon as he entered the kitchen. “Something is going on with Scott and Isaac,” she hissed right in his ear. 

“Yeah, got that,” he muttered.

“I’m gonna get Isaac. You get Scott.”

“Erica!”

She backed off, her eyes widened innocently. “What? I’m just worried about them.”

“Lies,” he seethed, dumping his armful into the sink. 

Casey huffed angrily at him, slapping him with her wet rag. 

“It is not a lie,” Erica said very softly, gripping his arm. “And to prove it to you, I’ll get Boyd to talk to him instead.”

He rolled his eyes. “And say what?”

“I don’t know—that’s why I’m sending Boyd.” She gave him a little shove toward Scott, who was carefully loading plates into the dishwasher while Isaac, across the room, held out a fork to Laura like he was fending her off. 

“Hey, bro,” Stiles said, and winced. He sounded like his _father_ when he said “bro” and “dude” like foreign words. “Wanna go outside and talk?”

Scott’s face paled slightly. “Yeah, I guess we better.”

“What is _wrong?_ ” Stiles asked desperately. “I’m getting a little worried here, dude.” There, that sounded semi-normal.

“It’s not wrong!” Scott yelped. 

A cup clattered across the room. 

“What? What are you talking about?”

Scott grabbed Stiles’s arm and dragged him from the kitchen, his fingers twisting up the sleeve of the sweater like he was nervous. 

“Scott, what is—seriously? We’re going outside?”

Scott just nodded, marching out the front door and down the porch, almost before Stiles could close the door behind them. 

Once they were well and truly into the trees, out of at least most of the hearing ranges (Talia had been known to hear her children texting each other when they should have been sleeping, so he wasn’t sure about her), Scott stopped and let Stiles’s arm go. He didn’t turn around immediately. 

“Scott?” he asked carefully. 

He sighed and spun around. “Please don’t get mad,” he said, which was not a great way to start things.

“Okay…Why would I get mad?”

“Just—just…I didn’t mean to make things awkward!” he blurted. 

A bird landed on the ground beside Scott’s foot, studying him and then flying off again when he started pacing agitatedly. 

“Scott! Make _what_ things awkward?” Stiles demanded, dropping his hands on Scott’s shoulders. He laughed a little. “Dude. Seriously. What’s going on? Don’t worry so much.” 

Scott nodded, swallowing. “IkissedIsaac,” he blurted.

“You…what?”

“I _kissed Isaac last night!_ ” 

Stiles choked on his tongue. “You—ohhhh. That explains _so much._ ” 

Scott frowned at him. “You’re not mad?”

Stiles shrugged. “Why would I be?” He hesitated. “Was—I mean, was Isaac upset?”

“No! No, but it was so _awkward._ ”

Stiles lifted his brows. “What? No, wait, just—just tell me everything.” 

“I—it was just a thing, I don’t know, Erica and Boyd went off to bed and we were just—I don’t know. I liked him, and I just sort of went for it and it was awkward.”

“Well.” Stiles wasn’t sure how to proceed. He took a deep breath. “Okay, did you guys talk? About that?”

“Not really.” Scott covered his face. “Like, exactly what happened was: we were watching freaking _Jaws_ , Stiles, and I just was like, well, okay, maybe I should just go for it and get it over with? Because I’ve been thinking about it and I was hoping maybe he was thinking about it and then I just _did it_ and we didn’t even say anything because-”

“Scott, Scott, slow down. Take a deep breath, okay, just take a breath.”

Scott complied, looking calmer once he was done. “Okay, yeah. I’m good. I’m fine.”

“So what’s the problem?”

“I don’t know! I thought I liked him but it was—really weird.” He shook his head. “It was just weird.” The bird returned, dropping a leafy stick by his foot. He picked it up graciously. The bird chirped with pleasure.

“Weird _how_?” Stiles asked, exasperated. “Weird like awkward-first-kiss-with-someone weird, or weird like this-was-a-terrible-decision weird? Weird like Isaac wasn’t into it weird?”

“No, it was just…kinda like…” He shrugged. “It was the kiss version of a shrug,” he said with some horror. 

Stiles rubbed his wrist over his mouth, trying to disguise his mirth. “So, what you’re saying is that you’re freaking out over an awkward kiss that didn’t really turn into…anything?”

Scott’s face creased. “No, man, I’m freaking out because now everything is all awkward and because Isaac is important to you and I didn’t want to do anything…bad.”

Stiles shook his head. “You’re important to me, too, Scott. You’re my best friend.” He shrugged. “Who you kiss is your business, as long as you’re both okay with it.” He bit his lip and snickered. “Was that, um, was that your first kiss with a guy?”

Scott nodded seriously. “But I really did just—and I still kind of like him, like that. He’s cute and really nice,” he admitted. “But that’s just…sort of it.”

Stiles nodded. “Are you okay now?” He grinned. “Not going to be all bizarre anymore?”

“I think I should talk to Isaac,” he said, straightening his shoulders. “He’s already kinda jumpy, I don’t want to make him uncomfortable.”

“Cool. Let’s go, then.”

But back at the house, Isaac was waiting anxiously for them at the door; he cringed slightly at the sight of Scott and mumbled that he wanted to talk to Stiles for a second, not quite meeting their eyes.

Stiles followed him to the center of the yard, already half-suspecting where this was going.

Sure enough, Isaac turned around and mumbled, “Scott kissed me.” 

Stiles nodded slowly. “You okay?”

His head snapped up. “What? Yes. Why?”

Stiles held his hands up. “You were acting jumpy, that’s all.”

“Oh. No, it was just awkward.” He shrugged his shoulders nearly up to his ears. His cheeks were turning red. “I thought it would be different—but it was just kinda like the one time I kissed Erica.” 

Stiles snorted, covering his mouth to disguise it. “That’s not so bad. At least you know, right?”

He nodded, glancing toward the house. “But now it’s weird,” he whined, rubbing his knuckles against his forehead.

“Why is that?”

“Because I still want to be friends with Scott? And I don’t want to kiss him again, like, ever.”

“Amazingly, Scott and I manage to be friends with no kissing involved either.”

Isaac wrinkled his nose. “But he never even _tried_ to kiss you,” he pointed out.

“You should _really_ let Scott talk to you.” He held his hands up when Isaac looked panicked. “Trust me. You’re both thinking the same thing. So just—stay here.” He jogged back to the house and grabbed Scott from the foyer, dragging him back to the yard. “Here. Talk.” 

He made it back inside before he started laughing, bracing his hands against his knees to keep his balance.

“What’s so funny?” Derek asked, approaching with a smile.

Stiles had to catch his breath before he could talk. “Our friends are the most awkward people in the world and they got us caught up in their awkward.”

“I’d like to point out that you are also enormously awkward,” Laura said as she passed. 

“She’s not wrong,” Boyd said, blowing some of Erica’s hair off his face. 

She was on his back, chin on his shoulder. “So? Anyone going to tell me what was going on with those two?”

Boyd pinched the back of her thigh, making her leg jerk. “None of your business.”

She bit his ear; by the way he jumped and swore, Stiles could assume it wasn’t the sexy kind of biting. “It is too my business! I’m the one who noticed!”

“Come on,” Derek said, grabbing Stiles’s hand and tugging him to the living room, where John and Melissa were arguing over the rules of Apples to Apples. 

“You’re both wrong,” Talia announced, waving the rule booklet. “Look.”

Dominick took it from her, scoffing. “No, look, that’s exactly what Melissa was saying, see?”

Talia leaned closer to see what he was talking about; he took the opportunity to steal a kiss, making her laugh, startled. 

“The adults are arguing over the board game and the kids are watching the news,” Stiles observed with a little sigh. “This is just sad.”

“You’re all wrong, and you’re all setting a terrible example,” Laini said. She took the rule book and sat down on the couch. “Listen. You choose a random person to do the green card first.” She cleared her throat and kept reading the rules. 

“As exciting as this is,” Stiles murmured, “do you want to go watch a movie in your room and slip into a food coma?”

“Yes.” Derek kissed his cheek and led the way.

They curled up together on Derek’s bed, choosing a movie at random to play on Derek’s dusty, mostly-unused laptop while they dozed. 

Stiles turned his head, brushing his lips over Derek’s cheek, skimming them down to his mouth. He felt him smile and couldn’t help smiling back. He slid his hand down to Derek’s waist, pulling him just a little closer, turning so they were facing each other. 

 

When the movie ended, they shuffled out to get more food, rumpled and flushed. Stiles kinda liked that look on Derek. He was finding he liked a lot of looks on Derek, though, so that was probably just Stiles. 

“Hey, kid. You take a nap?” John asked when he saw them coming down the stairs. He looked amused.

“Yep. Nap. Now we’re back for more food.” 

“I bet.” He patted Derek’s shoulder as he passed.

Stiles let Derek go to the kitchen ahead of him, stopping for a second. “Everything okay?” His gaze flicked over his father’s face, searching for any warning signs.

John smiled, his face relaxed, eyes soft in the corners. “Yeah, everything’s okay. This is good,” he decided with a quiet sigh. “I liked this.”

Stiles nodded, glancing over John’s shoulder when he saw movement. He smirked a little. “Casey’s on your tail, huh?”

Casey squeaked and bolted back around the corner to the living room. 

John shrugged. “She wants me to take her to the station to show her the weapons,” he said dryly. “That’s not going to happen.”

“Spoilsport,” Stiles accused, laughing. 

He just shook his head. “How’s Scott doing?” he asked.

“You noticed him being weird, too?” 

John nodded. “He’s not the subtle type,” he said delicately. “Neither of you are.”

Stiles tried to act insulted, but the truth was the truth. “Yeah, well. He’s fine. Just a little, uh, misunderstanding.”

John frowned at him judgmentally. “Like what?”

“Like a misunderstanding,” Stiles said firmly. “Come on, old man, let’s go get more food. You know I’m not letting you eat anything like this after today, so you might as well enjoy that honey ham while you’ve got the chance.”

John shot him a quick glower and marched to the kitchen, head held high. He also loaded a plate with everything terrible for him possible and slunk back out, so Stiles was satisfied. 

“You should lighten up,” Mikaela said, prodding his shoulder. “He’s a pretty healthy guy.”

“Not if he eats steak for breakfast, lunch, and dinner,” Stiles pointed out. “You guys might be able to handle that kind of stuff, but we humans need other things besides red meat in our diet.” 

She rolled her eyes toward Laini, who was leaning against one of the counters, picking at leftovers.

“No, he’s right, Mik,” she said absently. “Plus, I think it’s sweet how he watches out for his dad.” She frowned slightly. “Has anyone seen Emily?”

“She went up to her room after dinner.” Mikaela shrugged and grabbed the plate she’d been microwaving. 

“Her room?” Laini brushed her hand through her hair. “Well, I guess I should go talk to her.”

Talia hesitated in the doorway. “Talk to who?” she asked, starting to back away.

It was too late; Laini’s eyes had lit up. “Oh, Tally, would you come with me? I think Emily’s upset about something. You have three girls, you can help!”

Talia grimaced deeply. “Have you met my girls? You also have three girls,” she pointed out, but it was clear strategic retreat wasn’t happening. “Are you sure she’s upset about something? She might just be taking a nap.”

Laini scoffed. “She’s not taking a nap.” She held her hand out, pleadingly, so Talia sighed and took it, letting herself be dragged out of the room.

She looked back at Stiles for help, but he just held his hands up. 

Derek emerged from the pantry. “Are they gone?”

Stiles laughed. “Yeah. Were you hiding?”

“I wasn’t,” he said quickly. He glanced around the mostly empty room. “Mom’s really bad at, um, well…”

Peter poked his head in. “Tact?” he asked pleasantly. 

Derek scowled. “ _No_ , I just meant talking about feelings is hit and miss with her.”

“What?”

Peter grabbed a paper plate and reached into the fridge for the tubs of leftover turkey. “He means that Talia’s method of finding out why someone is upset does not change with the person.” He shrugged. “While demanding to know what the problem is so she can fix it would work with Laura and Mikaela, Emily and Casey would need a different approach—and Emily’s problem probably can’t be fixed.”

Derek frowned. “Why not?”

“She’s upset about the baby,” Peter said quietly. 

“Why would she be upset about the baby?” Stiles asked slowly. 

“Well,” he sighed. “Well, she’s the only human of her siblings, so they all sort of knew before her parents talked to her about it—not that Lucy understood what that smell was, she just kind of…sensed it. She’s thinking the baby will be a werewolf, and she’s wondering why she’s the only one who was born human.” He lifted his shoulders. “She’s upset.”

Derek looked at the ceiling. “I hope they can make her feel better.”

“Hmm.” Peter patted at their shoulders absently before he took his food and left.

Stiles looked at Derek. “They will. Her aunt and her mom. And maybe Ethan?” He looked around when he heard thumping on the stairs. “Or maybe Mikaela. Someone else is going up.”

Derek tipped his head. “It’s Simon, actually. Ethan is passed out on the couch. Peter’s draping food pieces over his face.”

Stiles snorted. “Oh.” 

They ate in the kitchen, sitting cross-legged and facing each other; Stiles knocked his foot against Derek’s knee, remembering the time they ate ice cream in the same place. 

Cora found them like that and joined them, chattering about their game of Apples to Apples and asking if they wanted to play Clue, or maybe Monopoly, twisting the ends of her hair around her fingers. It had grown in the months since the curse broke, Stiles realized, smiling. It was nice to see them growing. 

 

Later, at his apartment and in bed, Stiles fell into a deep, much-needed sleep for the first time in what felt like weeks.

_He dreamt of a huge garden, so beautiful that it was almost hard to believe it was real. Someone had worked very hard on it. He walked the stone paths in that dreamy way where he didn’t really take in details. He admired roses and dahlias and sunflowers, tulips, lavender, and poppies, all pretty and perfect. He kept walking, trailing his fingers over the soft petals, enjoying the fragrances as they fluttered on the soft breeze._

_It didn’t matter that he didn’t actually know what a poppy should smell like, or dahlias mixed with sunflowers; he simply glided along until he came across a little cluster of chrysanthemums and bluebells, growing out of a neatly manicured patch of soil. He smiled at the blooms, leaning in to sniff at them, and hesitated._

_A long, thorny blue rose was twisting its way out of the soil, sucking the life from the other flowers. They began to wilt in front of his eyes._

__“You have to take it out,” _a voice whispered._ “It’s killing everything around it.” __

_That was true. The bluebells were gray and ashy, drooping toward the soil, which was writhing with thorny roots from the rose. But, oh, the rose was beautiful, so vibrantly blue, brighter than any flower Stiles had ever seen. It seemed to glow with life._

__“But it’s killing everything. It’s destroying all the other lives.”

_True. So, so true. The chrysanthemums’ petals were drifting to the ground, one gray petal at a time, rotting from the roots up._

_Stiles dropped to his knees and started tearing at it, the thorns ripping his hands to shreds. The more roots he pulled, the more that grew right before his eyes, cutting up his hands. He pulled back, turning his palms to face him. Thorny vines stuck in his hands, deeply gouging the skin. He gasped, sobs sputtering on his lips as he tried to pry the thorny vines free. He used his nails to scrape them free, tears coursing down his cheeks as they ripped through his flesh._

“Wake up!”

Stiles gasped, opening his eyes. He couldn’t breathe—his chest was burning cold, tight and cramping, his lungs compressed as he struggled to drag in air. 

Derek yanked him up so he was sitting, shocking him enough to finally suck in a deep breath. 

He kept shivering, that cold seeping beneath the skin. “Derek?” he chattered. “Why’re you yelling?”

Derek sat back, his face so pale it practically glowed in the dark. “You were crying—you’re bleeding.”

Stiles rubbed his hand over his cheek, trying to clear the tears, but it stung—his hand was wet already and it throbbed like a bad tooth.

Derek turned the light on silently. 

Stiles looked around. There were smears of blood on the sheets and comforter; his palms were cut all to hell, and there was blood under his nails.

“What-?”

“You were crying and started scratching your hands. I didn’t want to hurt you and you were fighting me when I tried to stop you from scratching yourself, so—I woke you up.”

“Right.” He blinked, trying to remember his dream. The thorny blue rose flashed behind his eyes like a neon sign. “I’m going to go clean up.”

“Alright,” Derek said softly.

The sink was pink for a few minutes while Stiles washed his hands, trying to get the red-brown crescents from under his nails. The cuts weren’t that deep, really, just gashes where his bitten-ragged nails had managed to tear the skin.

He thought of his dream and shuddered, rubbing the heel of his right, less painful hand over the freezing mark on his chest. He washed his face while he was there, wiping away the smears of blood and tears. 

The dream had just been so vibrant. He couldn’t get the image of the rose out of his head.

He probably should stop watching cartoons and horror movies back to back.

Derek had changed the sheets when he returned to the bedroom; he’d even gotten the spare blankets from the closet.

“You okay?” he asked.

“Yeah. Sorry to wake you.” Stiles grimaced.

“That’s okay.” He hesitated, opening his mouth to say something, before he got the lights. He kept quiet as he got into bed.

“What?” Stiles asked.

“I just—was going to ask what you dreamed of.”

“Oh, that.” Stiles shifted around to put his head on Derek’s chest. “Thanks for changing the sheets, by the way.” 

Derek kissed the top of his head. “You don’t like blood,” he said simply. 

Stiles’s whole body warmed with love, enough that the mark stopped drawing most of his attention. “Well, the dream. There was this garden…”

He fell asleep before he got to the part about the rose.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm gonna be honest; I seem to ship Scott with whoever comes closest to helping me with the plots I have in mind, lol. Mostly it rotates between Kira, Allison, and Isaac. It is hilarious to me.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As promised: another chapter, on Monday. :D I hope you enjoy! Eight is my favorite number, making this, as per usual, my favorite chapter. I have no idea why. I'm already working on a new project (the third one of this has to wait, I need a brain break) and I'm SO EXCITED ABOUT IT

_Stiles dug his hands down deep into the dirt, tearing at the thorny roots with all of his might, infusing the soil with his own blood, panting with exertion as he fought to destroy the rose. The vines started wrapping, sharp, around his fingers and up his wrists, squeezing so painfully tight._

He jerked awake when Derek’s alarm clock went off, wiping his face of the tears he’d shed in sleep. 

“Are you okay?” Derek whispered, not fooled. 

Stiles sighed. “Yeah. Just the same old.” He rubbed his chest; the mark didn’t hurt as much as it had the first time, but it always felt achingly cold after the nightmare. He hadn’t tried to rip into his hands again, but then, the vines hadn’t clung to his palms again—yet. “What about you? Ready to start packing?”

Talia and Derek were leaving for New York at noon, so they had a few hours to eat and pack, but Derek’s pinched expression made Stiles wonder if they were running late.

“What? What is it?”

He shook his head. “Nothing,” he mumbled, rolling out of bed. “I’m gonna go brush my teeth,” he muttered.

“Okay.” Stiles sat up, rubbing his face and yawning. The blanket pulled off his feet, making him shudder. He supposed he should get up and locate a free bathroom so he could wash his face and teeth, too. 

Cora, freshly showered and bundled up in a fluffy green bathrobe, flung the door to the bathroom open and said, “Stiles, you can brush your teeth in here,” with a brilliant smile.

She’d been acting like that since Thanksgiving. Stiles still wasn’t sure what to make of it.

“Ah, okay. Sure.”

She stepped back and grabbed her own toothbrush, smearing it liberally with Crest. 

So, apparently the only thing more awkward than brushing teeth with Laura was doing the same with her younger sister. Laura might have studied him like he was a rabbit she was considering devouring, but Cora stared intensely, with wide, hopeful eyes that Stiles just did not understand. 

“Okay, well…I have to, um…so maybe I should go to the other bathroom…” He tried backing up, trying to get out, but Cora cringed.

“No, that’s okay. See you later!” she chirped, skipping out of the bathroom.

“Der, your little sister is weird,” he mumbled, starting to close the door. 

His phone chimed in his pocket just as it clicked shut. 

‘ ** _Which one?_** ’ 

He laughed and shoved the phone back in his pocket.

Derek met him in his bedroom with a couple breakfast burritos for each of them, expertly made by Ethan. “I should pack, but I grabbed you food just in case you, um.” He flushed and shook his head. “I meant, I grabbed you breakfast because I wanted you to stay up here with me.”

Stiles smiled. “Sure. I can help you pack! I’m great at packing.” He accepted the burrito Derek held out to him and swung his feet, grinning. 

“Eat first,” Derek suggested. He pulled a duffle bag from his closet, then settled beside Stiles on the bed. 

Derek picked at his sweatpants while he ate, fidgeting in place almost as badly as Stiles was. 

“You okay?” he asked carefully.

“I shouldn’t go,” he said abruptly, and shoved the rest of his burrito into his mouth.

“You shouldn’t go…with your mom?” Stiles shook his head. “Why?”

He shook his head too. “Never mind.” He got a second burrito and offered it to Stiles.

“No, I’m good. That thing was huge—and delicious.”

He got up and straightened out the duffle bag, checking how much space there was to work with.

When Derek finished breakfast, they started packing together—or, well, Derek picked out the clothes he wanted to bring and packed them, then Stiles took them out and refolded them.

“I shouldn’t go,” Derek said for the fourth time, clutching a pile of t-shirts to his chest. 

“Why not?” Stiles asked patiently as he folded jeans into the duffle bag. He tried to surreptitiously check the size because they always looked amazing but also painted on, but Derek turned around then. 

“Well—what if—what if you have a nightmare and no one wakes you up?”

“Feeble,” Stiles said. “They’re just nightmares.”

“You scratched up your hands and bled everywhere.”

He shook his head. “Once. I cut my hands up _once_. I’ll be fine, and you’re going to have fun.”

Derek glowered at him. It turned out his human face was as good at that as his half-wolf face. 

“Why don’t you want to go?” Stiles asked again, sitting on the bed and staring at him. 

He shrugged awkwardly. “I just—I’m—worried. I don’t know. Never mind. Everything makes me nervous these days, anyway.” 

Stiles gripped his hands together. “You don’t have to go, I’m sure your mom would understand. But don’t decide _not_ to go for some random thought about protecting anyone. We got along just fine before,” he added with a grin. “We’ll survive.”

Derek sighed. “I do want to go,” he admitted. “I just…”

“Worry needlessly?”

He shrugged. “I suppose. I’m going,” he said firmly. 

Stiles would have been more convinced if this wasn’t their fourth variation of the same conversation.

 

Talia wanted to leave by 12:30, so she was loading the car when Stiles finally managed to prod Derek downstairs with his bags. Two bags. Plural _bags_. Derek was surprisingly bad at packing and at letting other people pack for him. He’d repacked everything Stiles had done. So, two bags.

Simon was crunching on an apple when they passed the dining room, a small thing Stiles wouldn’t have noticed if he hadn’t have been staring at him so intensely as he did so. 

Stiles wondered if that was how the deer felt during the pack’s hunts. He stuck close to Derek and followed him out of the house.

“—packed you guys enough food for a few days, but after that, I guess you’ll have to make stops,” Ethan was saying as he loaded two enormous coolers into the backseat of Talia’s car. “Also, try not to stop at taco places unless it’s a food truck, please? You’ll break my heart.”

Talia laughed and grabbed him in a headlock. “Spoilsport,” she teased. 

“Peter, tell her. You’re the youngest,” he called, struggling to free himself.

Peter, who was on the porch reading, sighed. “No, don’t, stop. The horror.” He flipped a page.

Ethan rolled his eyes. “You’re a real big help, brother, thanks.”

“Mmhm. Have fun, Talia, Derek.” He barely glanced up.

“That’s great, Pete, just wave them off like they’re going down the street or something,” Ethan snapped and stormed off when Talia dropped her arms in shock.

Peter looked up finally, frowning. “Did he just call me Pete?”

“Go apologize,” Talia sighed. 

“For what?” he demanded. 

Stiles made a ‘ _yikes_ ’ face and ducked around the car to ‘help’ Derek put his bags in the trunk.

Laura came out of nowhere and tackle-hugged them from behind, squeezing their necks. “Der, go say bye to Dad. He’s moping.” She kissed his cheek and gave him a little shove. 

When he was in the house, she turned on Stiles. “I have a plan,” she announced, grinning viciously.

“Does it involve anything that should be _inside_ my body being exposed to the air?”

“What? Ew. No, Stiles.” She pinched his ear. “No, I mean to help Derek. So his room—you can’t smell it, but it just _reeks_ of sadness and guilt and regret.”

“Really? After the remodel?”

She nodded grimly. “I was thinking we could air out his room and you could sleep over a few times, so we can get rid of that smell.” 

“Oh. Yeah, okay. That sounds…” _completely weird._ But he understood the sentiment. Probably. “Couldn’t we just clean everything?”

She sighed heavily and hooked an arm around his neck. “That might work for anyone else. My brother, however, is a _champion_ at feeling guilty and a failure at hiding his emotions.”

“He is?”

“Yes. And you, your smell, and your funny face make him happy. We cover his bed in laundry detergent and Stiles, he associates it with _happy._ ” 

“Funny _face_?” he repeated, insulted.

She pinched the tip of his nose and ran before he could more than sputter in outrage. 

“Whatever she did or said, I’m _sorry_ ,” Derek said, returning.

“It’s fine.” He shrugged and smiled. “Almost time to go.”

“Yes.”

“So, are you gonna kiss me goodbye, or…?” He grinned.

Derek huffed and tipped his face forward in invitation.

Talia had to slam the trunk five minutes later to break them up. She hugged Stiles goodbye before ushering a grinning Derek into the car.

“Are you crying?” Cora demanded loudly as they pulled away. 

“No,” Stiles snapped. He wasn’t. Definitely. But the anxiety on Derek’s face as they’d pulled out had maybe made his eyes fill with _sympathy._ A _little._

“Whatever, nerd, come inside, Simon made tomato soup and grilled cheese sandwiches.”

Stiles texted Derek to relax while he was eating and was gratified when he replied that Talia was cracking up.

“So, Stiles,” Simon began, and the look in his eyes made Stiles glance at his food, wondering if it was poisoned. Then he looked back up, sure he was supposed to be distracted by the food while Simon attacked from above. “Derek left you here all alone, at our mercy.” The smile that flickered over his face was not exactly pleasant. 

Stiles laughed awkwardly. “Uh, I guess.”

“Mom said not to pick on Stiles,” Cora said, pointing with her spoon.

“I’m not _picking_ on him,” Simon said pleasantly. 

Laura scoffed. “Just ask him like a normal person, Simon,” she sighed.

“Ask what?” Mikaela asked, sitting beside Cora.

“I was going to ask Stiles about his intentions for Derek,” Simon said haughtily.

Stiles sputtered on his soup.

Mikaela helpfully thumped him on the back. 

“You know, Derek’s older than Stiles,” Cora pointed out. “Stiles is _only_ twenty.”

Laura snickered while Stiles tried to figure out when he’d told Cora how old he was. 

“So?” Simon shot back. “Derek’s _fragile_ , okay? I don’t want anyone screwing around with him.”

“Whoa, hey,” Stiles protested, offended. “I am _not_ just screwing around with Derek, okay? Where did that even _come from?_ ” He looked around the table, hurt. “Is that what everyone thinks?”

Dominick came in, then, scowling. “No, it is not. Simon.” He shook his head at his son.

“I’m worried, Dad. Derek never told us about Kate but-” He sucked in a huge breath. “But I knew he was seeing _someone_ , okay? Our rooms were right next to each other, and he sometimes came in before he washed off, and I just—he was—” He scrubbed his face, looking sick. “I just figured he would tell everyone later, and it’s not like I was going to fucking tattle, okay, then he might’ve told what I was doing and it all seemed more important before I had to listen to him tell us for _eight years_ what had happened and I couldn’t say anything to him or help him and he kept saying he was _sorry_.” 

“Okay, Simon, okay.” Dominick pulled him into a hug, crushing him against his chest. “I get that you’re worried and upset, but try not to take it out on Stiles.”

“Yeah,” Laura said with a slightly nervous grin. “I mean, we all know Stiles loves Derek.” 

Stiles was so completely overwhelmed by that point he couldn’t even get embarrassed by that.

Cora asked tightly, “Do we know that?”

“Yes,” Dominick said firmly, over Simon’s head. “Otherwise, none of us would be awake.” He rubbed his hand briskly down Simon’s back and pulled away, keeping one hand on his shoulder. 

Ever so slowly, Stiles felt a blush creep up his face, as if he’d only just realized his boyfriend’s family was discussing his feelings. “Um, I’m gonna go. Yeah. I’ve got to get to—take my dad lunch.” He stood up and sort of lurched away from the table, stepping on his own foot.

“No, don’t go, Stiles,” Mikaela protested. “Simon didn’t mean anything by it!” Quieter, she hissed, “Good going, dumbass, now he’s gonna break up with Derek because you were rude.”

“I-” Stiles started, only to shake his head and keep going. He could return to get his stuff when he was less mortified. 

He got as far as the driveway before someone caught his arm and jerked him around.

“Ow!” he protested, jerking his arm free.

Simon winced, holding his hands up. “Sorry. Did I—is your arm okay?”

“Yeah,” he muttered. “Look, it’s _great_ that you care so much about Derek and I get that you feel guilty for not saying anything back then, and I’m _super glad_ he’s got his family back, but I am _nothing_ like Kate, okay? I would _never_ use someone like that, _especially_ not Derek, and I don’t appreciate the fucking accusation or whatever the hell that was.” He took a deep breath, gearing up for more.

Simon nodded. “I know, I get all that, and I know the whole family owes you and I know you’re a good person—you gave Peter a job and helped _Laura_ find one, so—but I just _forgot_.” He yanked on his hair. “Or I couldn’t get past this, this thought of _what if someone else is gonna hurt him like that?_ He’s my little brother and I fucking knew something was going on with him but I didn’t tell anyone and it turns out some crazy bitch a decade older than him was messing with him.” 

Stiles nodded, most of his temper draining away as quickly as it’d flooded him.

Simon swallowed. “So, um, I wanted to say I was sorry. I am sorry. I know you care about Derek and that he cares about you, too—I mean.” He rolled his eyes at himself. “He runs to you when he gets overwhelmed by us. You know, he used to run to me and make me walk with him in the woods.” 

“Sometimes,” Stiles admitted. “So…are we good? Because you’re a pretty friendly guy and Derek’s favorite sibling, so it’s gonna be hard to hate you.” 

Simon laughed, his shoulders relaxing. When he smiled, he looked strikingly like Laura and Dominick. 

Stiles was maybe a little fascinated by big families.

“Well, in the spirit of, uh, friendship, I should tell you that Cora has a crush on you.”

Stiles’s jaw popped open. He wasn’t sure his brain could take any more of this. “Uh—what? Why?”

Simon rolled his eyes. “You’re older, you’re nice to her, and, probably most important, you carried her out of a burning house.”

“Just up the stairs,” he said weakly.

“She’s twelve. The details don’t really matter.”

“Well—great. Now what?” Stiles demanded, slightly panicked. 

“Now you date my brother and try not to break my little sister’s heart,” Simon said cheerfully; his expression was hopeful and, ugh, did anyone ever hold a grudge against a Hale?

Stiles glowered at him. “That is not helpful.”

He shrugged. “You going to come back inside, or do I have to go in and face their wrath alone?”

Stiles brushed his foot over the dirt. “You can’t be the only one who was thinking something like that.” 

“No, I, uh, really was.” He looked guilty again. “Um, but—I was…obviously…projecting and—you don’t happen to know the number for Derek’s therapist, right?” he asked awkwardly, flushing. 

Stiles shook his head slightly.

“Sorry, that was a weird—I’m just trying to say that I…well, my dad is enforcing getting me help with my, ah, issues.” He made an awkward sort of face. “Which were not immediately apparent and I’d like to apologize for lashing out at you, again.”

“Um, okay. Apology accepted.” 

Simon tilted his head. 

“But I really should take my dad some lunch…”

“I could make a container of soup and a sandwich for him?” Simon offered quickly.

Stiles sighed quietly. “Sure, thanks. That’d be great.” 

 

He spent the rest of the day, after bringing John his lunch, cleaning Derek’s room with Boyd and Isaac’s help.

They wanted to drag the mattress outside and let it air out, but Laura vetoed that, opening the windows instead.

“After a day like this, we put fresh sheets on, then let Stiles sleep in here.”

“Us, too,” Boyd said.

Laura hesitated. “No, I think just Stiles,” she said cautiously.

Stiles shrugged. “I don’t see why not. It couldn’t hurt.”

She sighed deeply. “Fine, alright. But nothing funny. I’m looking at you, Isaac!”

He sighed loudly. “ _I_ didn’t kiss him—he kissed me!” he protested, making them all crack up.

 

Stiles ate dinner with Lydia, Heather, and Lexa, since his and Lydia’s boyfriends were out of town.

“So, we’re going to move in together,” Heather announced while they ate, practically bouncing in her seat. “Well, Lexa’s moving in with me.”

“That’s great! Congratulations!” Stiles said, beaming.

“It’s gonna be fun. We asked Laura if she could help, and she’s on board.”

“I can help, too!”

Since all three of the women turned to stare at him, he got the feeling his help wasn’t wanted. 

“Well, I don’t _have_ to,” he mumbled. 

Heather patted his arm. “Lexa just wants her stuff to arrive at my place _unbroken_ , that’s all,” she said kindly and made Lexa and Lydia laugh.

“Very funny, yes, it’s hilarious, I’m clumsy.”

“You are,” Lydia agreed. “We can help you _pack_ , though,” she offered.

“Yes! That is help I will take. I _hate_ packing.” 

Stiles got home feeling pretty good, having enjoyed an outing with friends, had lunch (sorta) with his father, and managed to work out the issue with Simon. All in all, a rather productive, if emotionally wrought, day.

He even called Scott to check in and listen to him babble excitedly about having only a couple weeks to go before he was 100% done with school.

He went to bed feeling optimistic, ready to break every curse Beacon Hills had ever experienced. 

He didn’t even have the nightmare that night; he dreamt of Derek and Scott playing with these weird cat-like puppies in Dr. Deaton’s lobby. 

 

Stiles woke to a text from Derek, including a picture of the Nevada sky at night that made him smile. 

Okay, so it might’ve sucked, knowing he wasn’t going to see Derek all day—maybe for more than a week—but it was good for him to get out of Beacon Hills. Plus, a road trip with his mom and Alpha couldn’t hurt. Bonding time.

Stiles would give almost anything to spend even an hour more with his mother, so like hell was he going to let Derek pass up the opportunity to take a road trip with his.

Lydia and Peter were already in the office when he got down there. 

“Morning!”

Peter lifted his brows. “You’re chipper,” he observed. 

“No nightmares,” he boasted. “Talked to Scott. Got a text from Derek.”

“Ah.” He looked amused. “Well that clears that up.” He glanced toward Lydia. “And how was your night, Miss Martin?”

The way he asked had Stiles looking sharply at Lydia, brows shooting up to somewhere around his hairline. 

“It was fine,” she said dispassionately. “Have we gotten any calls?”

Peter spread his hands out in front of him. “The phone hasn’t rung.”

Her face went pinched. “Are there any _messages?_ ” she snapped.

“Ah. Well, I’ll have to check.” He picked up the phone, humming cheerfully to himself as if pissing Lydia off made his morning complete. 

Knowing him, it probably did. 

Stiles went to the coffee machine to make a pot, figuring he was safer out of the way. 

He checked his phone while it brewed, texting Scott an overly excited ‘ _ **GOOD MORNING!!**_ ’ just to keep distracted. 

“Melinda Villafuerte called, she said she’s got a strand of Crisa’s hair for you,” Peter relayed. 

“Wow. Okay, cool.” Stiles glanced at Lydia. “We can go over later, get it, bring it here, and break the curse.”

“All before lunch.” She shook her head. “She said she’d get it to us two weeks ago. We haven’t heard from her since. It’s strange.”

“Maybe Cira wouldn’t let her take any?” Stiles suggested. 

“Maybe. She has thirty feet of hair. How can she keep track of every bit so well for two weeks?” She shook her head. “Never mind.”

Before anything else could be said, Stiles’s cell began ringing at the same time Peter’s and Lydia’s chimed with multiple texts. 

“Eerie,” he laughed before answering it. “Hey, Dad, everything ok-”

“We just got a 911 call from Cira Villafuerte for an ambulance, her grandmother is outside having an allergic reaction,” John said tersely. “She’s one of your clients, right?” 

Stiles could hear the sirens from the cruiser through the phone. “Yes, oh my god.”

“Mikaela just texted—Cira called her screaming and crying that she needed help,” Lydia said, already grabbing her purse.

“What-? Dad, we’re going to help.”

“Good.” He hung up. 

Peter came with them, slipping into the backseat of Lydia’s car before either of them could protest. 

“She said Cira was crying,” Lydia explained as she navigated. “Her grandmother had gone outside for something and Cira saw her start chocking. She has EpiPens around the house—I think she has a severe allergy, but, obviously, Cira couldn’t get them to her. The phone disconnected before Mikaela could get more info.”

An ambulance was already at the house when they arrived, along with John and Deputy Parrish, who was talking to someone sitting in the yard.

“Dad, what’s going on?” Stiles asked as they approached. “Is Ms. Villafuerte okay?”

He nodded. “She’s okay. They’re taking her to the hospital now.”

“Where’s…” He noticed the person Deputy Parrish was talking to then.

She looked different, smaller, without all the hair. It was gone, or most of it. Patches were longer in some places, like she’d hacked off as much as she could before shaving it off…badly.

Cira’s face was blotchy and tear-streaked, her eyes sunken and tired. 

“She was dying,” she hiccupped, and broke down crying again. 

“Why don’t I drive you to the hospital,” Deputy Parrish said kindly, putting an arm around her shoulders gently.

She nodded, letting him lead her to his patrol car. She hesitated, though, and turned to look at Lydia. “You guys can come, too,” she mumbled. Her gaze dropped. “I’ll tell you what happened.”

“Wow,” Stiles breathed once they walked away. 

“Her hair was keeping her trapped,” Lydia observed. 

“I figured that out by the chop job she gave herself.” 

“I bet if her parents or Melinda would have cut it when she was young and ignored her protests, the curse would have been broken a long time ago.” Lydia shook her head slightly. “That’s probably what Ethel meant when she said she didn’t think it would last this long. Come on, let’s go to the hospital. We can get flowers for Melinda there.” 

Peter said, “I’ll meet you back at the office. I’m going to try to figure out what happened.” He plastered a wide grin on his face. “Hello, Sheriff,” he called, sauntering over to him. 

Stiles rolled his eyes and went back to Lydia’s car with her. “First you, now my dad?” He shook his head. “Does he _like_ pissing off the wrong people?”

Lydia smirked. “I wouldn’t say he’s trying to piss off the sheriff.” She nodded back toward them.

Peter’s hand was on John’s arm, leaning in as he spoke, a soft smile on his face, chin tipped down just slightly. 

“Oh, ew, no, he’s not flirting with _my dad._ ” Stiles inhaled deeply so he could bellow at Peter to step away from the sheriff, but Lydia smacked the back of her hand into his stomach. The air rushed out in an _oof_.

“Come on, let’s get to the hospital.” 

Muttering to himself, he got in the car. 

Thankfully, Melissa McCall was Melinda’s nurse; she let them in to see Cira when they asked.

She was staring at her grandmother, who was sleeping peacefully.

“Hi, Cira,” Stiles said gently. 

She looked up. “Oh. Hi.”

“How is she doing?”

She shrugged. “They said she’ll be okay, just tired.” Her eyes teared up. “I don’t understand why this happened. It’s December.” 

Stiles looked at Lydia, puzzled. 

“What do you mean, Cira?” she asked.

“She’s only allergic to _bees_ ,” Cira sniffled. “She got stung by bees. It’s thirty-eight degrees outside!” 

Stiles’s eyes widened, but Lydia spoke before he could say anything stupid.

“There might be something else,” she said. “She could have had a reaction to something she didn’t even realize she was allergic to.”

Cira kept shaking her head. “No, no, it was bees. They had to take out the stingers.” She wiped her face. “I looked out the front window and I saw her swatting at something and—she just fell—I couldn’t get out.” She looked at her lap. “I was scared to get out, but I was scared she would die, too. It felt like-” She looked up and glanced around, like she was scared someone was listening in. “It felt like my hair was keeping me in. I could get out but my hair would get yanked back…like someone was pulling it.” She reached up to pull at one of the longer patches. “So I cut it and it still didn’t work so I shaved as much of it off as I could really quickly with my dad’s old clippers.” She picked at her sweatpants.

“That was really brave,” Stiles said.

Her head snapped up. “ _How?_ ”

“You’ve been afraid to go outside, haven’t you? And of cutting your hair. But you did it anyway.” He smiled. “That’s brave.”

She twisted her hands in her lap. “I think my hair was making me afraid.”

Stiles frowned. “How do you mean?”

She shrugged. “Before, when I’d think about going outside, or to like, the store—normal places, it’d make me…I don’t know. It seemed like the worst thing in the world. The same with cutting my hair, really. And for the last few weeks, I’ve been really…terrified. I haven’t been sleeping, even. But now…it’s still scary,” she admitted. “But not like that.”

They left soon after; with her curse broken, there was no reason for them to hover. They found Peter at the office, taking a call. 

“Alright. See you at one-thirty. Thank you.” He looked at them. “Did you find out any important information?”

“Just that Cira cut her hair herself and that she thinks the hair was what was keeping her trapped in the first place.” Stiles shrugged. “Oh, and that Melinda was stung by bees.”

Peter looked interested. “Really. In this weather?”

“Yes. They had to remove some stingers.”

After a few seconds of silence, Lydia asked, “Who was that on the phone?”

“A woman named Price Benedetto. She wants to bring in her friend. He’s been cursed for a few weeks, and they don’t know who did it.”

Lydia nodded. “Alright. Give them one of the forms when they come in.”

“Okay.”

She nodded again and went to her office.

Stiles took his phone out and snorted when he saw the picture Talia had texted him.

It was a shot of Derek through the car window, knocked out, mouth wide open.

‘ _ **Rest stop nap,**_ ’ she’d texted.

Stiles tilted the phone to show Peter, making him laugh. Hearing the genuine laugh made Stiles remember the fake one he’d heard earlier. “Hey, what were you saying to my dad?” he asked casually.

Peter shrugged. “I was asking if anyone else had seen what’d happened, if there were any strangers in the neighborhood.” When Stiles continued to stare at him, he shrugged again. “And I may have asked in a friendlier manner than I normally would have.” 

Stiles cringed. “Ugh, god, why?”

An unholy grin lit Peter’s face. “Well, you see, Stiles, when someone-”

“No, no, shhh, I have an idea of where this is going, I want no part of it!” he yelled, covering his ears and stomping to his office.

“I could be your new stepdad!” Peter sang.

“GROSS!” He slammed the door. Hard. Peter was only, like, twenty-seven.

Oh, god, what if John was _okay with that?_

Stiles hid in his office, trying to keep his brain away from those thoughts, texting Scott and Erica to distract himself, until their appointment arrived. He crept out as they were coming in.

He’d heard a few people come in, but since no one had tried to get his attention, he figured they just needed the records room.

“Hello, Miss Benedetto,” Peter greeted. “And…” He glanced at her friend. 

“This is Hektor Burmingham,” the young woman said. “You can call me Price.”

“Hello, Hektor,” Peter said, holding a hand out for a handshake.

Hektor cringed.

“He can’t shake your hand,” Price said bluntly.

Stiles stepped further into the room to see them.

Hektor was wearing a loose shirt and pants made of white cotton and his feet were bare. Way inappropriate for the weather.

“Is it a symptom of his curse?” Stiles asked.

Price sighed, flicking her short hair behind her ear. “Yes. Look, a couple weeks ago, I went to his house and he was wearing _this_ and he couldn’t put on shoes—he can’t shake your hand or sign documents or—it’s very weird.”

Stiles frowned. “The curse dressed him like this?”

She nodded. “And put cuffs on him.” She looked at him.

He sighed and shook his sleeves back.

Gold cuffs circled his wrists, thick and heavy. He pulled the legs of the pants up enough to show two more cuffs on his ankles. 

“Is there anything else the curse does?” Lydia asked from the back of the room, her tone just short of sharp. 

Stiles hadn’t even realized she’d come out of her office. 

“Yes,” Hektor admitted. “I grant wishes.”

Stiles blinked. Shook his head slightly. Blinked some more. “You…grant…wishes?”

Price sighed. “I wish I had an apple,” she said clearly, holding a hand out, palm up. 

Hektor flinched, bowing slightly and closing his eyes.

Stiles and Peter jumped when a red apple appeared in her hand, shiny and perfect.

“If you wish for something, he can’t help but grant it. There have been some pretty disastrous results from people who were just talking, like people do, within his earshot.” She glanced at him.

Hektor’s face was pasty, though Stiles couldn’t tell if that was because of the wish or because of whatever he was about to say. “A girl walking down the sidewalk yesterday wished she had a boyfriend and I had to grant it, so some guy started following her around, trying to hold her hand and kiss her—she didn’t know him, obviously, and freaked out because he was insisting they were dating and…” He rubbed his face. “There is a teenage boy in jail because of me and a girl with a restraining order against him.”

“And the wishes aren’t always granted the way you expect.” Price sighed, put the apple between her palms, and squeezed. 

It crackled and popped, crumbling.

“Plastic?”

“Yep.” She crossed the room to dump the pieces in the trash, brushing her hands off. “Do you know what it is?”

“Djinn curse,” Lydia said tersely. “ _Very_ old. I’m going to look up the cure. Stiles, just—no one wish anything, and everyone stay inside,” she ordered, walking back to the records room.

Stiles looked at Hektor and Price, feeling awkward. “So, ah…anyone want some coffee?”

“We also have bottled water,” Peter added, bending behind his desk.

“We do?”

“Stiles, this is, in part, at least, your office,” Peter sighed. “Why don’t you look around once in a while?”

Stiles shrugged awkwardly. “Because _that_ desk is yours and Mikaela’s, so I mostly just stay away from it.” 

Peter sighed again, passing out bottled waters.

Stiles grinned awkwardly. “So, um…how did you, ah, receive…this curse?”

Hektor shook his head. “I don’t know. I woke up a few weeks ago dressed like this. My brother is in _Italy_ right now, by the way, because he was watching a movie and wished he was there and now he is and he doesn’t have anything or anyone-” He stopped, shaking his head and pacing away.

“Uh, uh, well-”

“I got some money to him and my cousins live there, they gave him a place to stay,” Price said in response to Stiles’s alarmed look.

“That’s beside the _point_ , Price,” Hektor said. “I sent my brother to _Italy._ ”

She punched his shoulder lightly. “What’s wrong with Italy, jerk?”

He scowled at her.

Stiles checked his phone when Lydia texted. ‘ _ **This curse is heavy duty. Sending list of things now.**_ ’

‘ _Exactly six drops of blood from a black cat, crushed blue sea glass, salt water, belladonna, aspen leaves, fur from a senior dog, and the ashes of two swan feathers._ ’

“Hey, I’m gonna go see Dr. Deaton about part of the list,” he called. 

She was already coming back. “Good. I’m going to get the flowers, water, and sea glass. Peter is going to stay and watch you. No wishes, absolutely none. Wear headphones if you have to.”

Price frowned. “Why? They suck but it’s not _too_ bad.”

Lydia pulled her coat on. “After a certain amount of granted wishes, the curse will kill him.”

Hektor choked. “It what? _What?_ Why?”

“Because it’s an archaic, dark curse and you either made an enemy or someone misfired.” 

He looked baffled. “I teach eighth grade.”

“That’ll do it,” Peter said. He held out his phone, headphones dangling from the end. “Just in case.”

He took it shakily.

Price pushed him onto the couch, but he slid right off the edge to sit on the floor in front of it. She sighed. “What kind of stuff do you need?” she asked.

“We’ll be back with all of it soon,” Lydia said. “Stiles?”

“Don’t worry,” he said, “we’ll break it.” 

He forgot his coat, so he ran to the jeep, cranking up the heat and bouncing in place while it warmed up.

 

Dr. Deaton was understandably bothered by the requirements for the curse. 

“The fur and feathers, yes, but Stiles, the blood…”

“Doc. The guy could _die_.” He fidgeted with the cup of pens on the counter. “I came to you so I don’t have to follow a stray around town and try to prick it. At least you can make sure it’s safe…” 

Deaton sighed long and loud. “Fine. You’ll have to pluck the swan feathers yourself while I get the blood. Be careful. She’s got a temper.”

“Right. Quick question. Why do you have a swan here?” he asked, nearly knocking the cup over. 

“Scott’s patients,” he admitted. “Usually they’d go out of Beacon Hills during the school term, but since I’m here…”

“Right. Okay. Where is she?”

 

Swans were _evil_. She had a hurt foot but good _lord_ , she was mean. Stiles managed to get a couple of feathers before he beat a hasty retreat, stumbling into the hall and slamming the door on her angry squawking. 

“You _suck_ ,” he gasped, looking for Deaton. “Why couldn’t you get the feathers? Wouldn’t she have let you?”

“No. Not everyone has Scott’s particular affinity for animals.” Deaton came out of an exam room. “I’m good at this, but Scott definitely has a gift.” 

“Yeah.” Stiles rubbed his palms against his jeans. “So, fur?” 

He met Lydia back at the office. She was crushing the sea glass into a mortar with the leaves and flowers. 

“Hey, got the rest. Did the book say what to do with this stuff?” he asked, crossing the room. He held out the bag he’d made at the clinic.

“Yep. Have to mix it up and pour it over the cuffs.”

“That’s it?” Price asked, leaning forward.

“Yes, cat blood and ashes of swan feathers, belladonna, aspen, sea glasses,” Lydia said pleasantly. “That’s it.”

Price let out a little cough, waving her hand. “Right. I didn’t mean it like that, sorry. Just—it seems so…small. Or simple.” She shrugged. “Sorry, I guess.” 

Lydia shrugged, pouring water into the mortar. “Stiles, come burn the feathers over the bowl.” 

“No, no, I will do that,” Peter said, withholding the lighter. “We don’t want him to trip and burn down the building.”

Stiles just held out the rest of the ingredients and stepped back. 

 

Peter and Lydia poured the mixture over Hektor’s wrists while Price and Stiles got his ankles.

It took a few moments of quiet sizzling, but the cuffs eventually cracked open, popping off and thumping to the floor.

“Do you think it’s completely broken?” Hektor asked hesitantly. 

“Here, why don’t you sign this receipt? If it isn’t broken, your signature shouldn’t show up.”

“Right.” He took the pen and signed, looking startled and pleased when it showed up.

“Maybe I should wish for something,” Price said. “To be sure.”

“Okay, yeah.” Hektor nodded vigorously. 

Lydia glanced at Stiles, brows pinched, but there was really nothing they could say.

“I wish I had an apple,” Price said, clearly, and held a hand out. 

Hektor just stared at her, then started laughing. “Oh, god, we have to get West a ticket home, oh no.”

Price waved her hand. “He’s fine. My cousins will send him home when they’re done showing him around. Here,” she added, pulling a credit card out of her back pocket.

“Price…”

“Nope. I’ll pay. You can get me a great birthday gift to thank me.” She pinched his cheek, laughing when he swatted her hand away. 

 

“What a day,” Stiles said with a yawn as they were closing up. “What is with these curses?” 

“I don’t know,” Lydia murmured. “It’s like someone is practicing old curses, but _why_?”

Stiles shook his head. “Dunno.”

She sighed. “Okay. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Peter waved as he jumped in his car, promising to bring Mikaela in the morning. 

Stiles reheated leftover pizza for dinner, texting Scott about the Djinn curse.

Derek checked in with three pictures—one selfie of him and Talia, grinning at a rest stop, one of a pink fire truck, and another of a lightning-lit sky.

Stiles smiled and replied, leaning against the counter while his pizza warmed up.

 

_The garden was just as perfect as all the other times that Stiles had this dream. He didn't bother to look at the flowers; he knew where he was being drawn to, and went there directly. He let out a long breath when he found the rose, as vibrant and poisonous-looking as ever. It seemed to pulse as he drew closer, dropping to his knees in front of it._

__“You have to destroy it. It’ll kill everything here.” __

 _Stiles looked at the flower, keeping his hands pinned under his knees._ “But it’s so pretty. I shouldn’t…”

“You have to!” __

_He jerked forward, digging his hands into the soil, tearing at the thorns._

He woke groggy and slightly late, to a text from Mikaela, ‘ _ **We’ll be late. Your dad is pulling us over because Peter was speeding.’**_

He snorted, rubbing his face. ‘ _ **K, don’t worry about it.**_ ’ He rolled out of bed and yawned. 

 

Lydia was already inside by the time Stiles was dressed and stumbling down into the office. 

“Hey, you look like you got as much sleep as I did,” he said, barely inside; he let the door rest against his hip.

“I didn’t sleep,” she muttered. She straightened up. “Here. Can you run to Scents of Humor and get the biggest box of pastries you can?” She held out thirty dollars. 

“If you want. What kind?”

“Surprise me,” she muttered, rubbing her temple.

Carly was pleased to get a $30 sale, putting together a nice big box of mixed pastries. 

“There you go. I hope you don’t plan to eat all of those yourself,” she said, frowning in concentration as she taped the box shut. 

“Lydia’s going to help,” he laughed. “Plus, we’ll probably leave some for Peter and Mikaela.”

“Alright, well, enjoy.”

“Will do. Bye Carly!”

“Later!”

Peter and Mikaela still hadn’t arrived when Stiles got back to the office. He figured that meant Peter was trying to talk or flirt his way out of the ticket.

“Thank you,” Lydia said when he entered. “Just—set it on the desk. I’m starving.”

Stiles grimaced sympathetically. “Why didn’t you sleep last night?” he asked, setting the box down. He looked around for scissors. 

“I’m not sure. I just had a bad feeling and couldn’t fall asleep.” She rubbed her temples. 

He nodded, finding the scissors and opening them. He stabbed the tip into the tape and dragged it along. “Yeah, I know that feeling. I had the same nightmare-” he broke off with a gasp as the scissor blade sliced across the fingers of his other hand. “Ow, shit. Of course.” He grimaced at the blood. “Uh…”

“We have a first…” Lydia slid to the floor in a dead faint, stunning him.

“Lydia?” He tried to step toward her, but ice-cold pain flared in his chest, doubling him over. His fingers throbbed, and his vision darkened with each beat of his heart. 

Something rumbled beneath his feet, shaking the walls. Stiles collapsed to the floor, his eyes slipping shut against his will.

_Crap._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you think! <3


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello hello! Thank you for your comments, everyone! They make me sooo happy, ach!! Just. So happy. They're so sweet. 
> 
> Anyway, it is Thursday, and I said I would post on Thursdays and so here we are. I hope this chapter makes everyone happy. :D

Derek jumped out of the car as soon as it slowed. He heard his mother scolding him, but he couldn’t help himself—he ran to Peter’s car in a panic. He and Mikaela were waiting for them at the town line.

Talia had broken all sorts of speed laws getting back to Beacon Hills after they’d received an urgent text from Peter. The sun was only just rising.

“What’s going on?” Derek demanded. “Stiles hasn’t answered my texts.”

“Ours either,” Peter said grimly. “We’ve been here all night waiting for you. Dom said everyone at home is okay,” he added, looking toward Talia as she got out. “He’s keeping everyone at home just in case.”

“What happened, exactly?” she asked, stopping beside Derek.

“Sheriff Stilinski was writing me a ticket and something sort of—well, a curse washed over the town. Everyone is…asleep.” 

“How are you and Mikaela still awake?” Derek asked, his heart squeezing. “How’s anyone at home still awake?”

“Uncle Peter blew some powder in my face when he saw the curse. It looked like a storm,” Mikaela said from the car. “We got Sheriff Stilinski.”

“You—he’s not asleep either?”

“No, she means we have him.” Peter shrugged. “It’s freezing, we couldn’t just leave him where he fell.” He looked at Talia. “I agree with Derek, though. How is everyone at home still awake?”

She sighed. “I paid a lot of money for protection from sleeping curses to be put on our house.” She rubbed her face. “Good to know it worked.” She leaned forward, looking into the backseat.

Sheriff Stilinski was sprawled in the backseat, his face slack, legs folded up because he was too tall for the seat. 

“Peter!” Talia snapped.

“We can take him home,” he muttered. “I wanted to wait for you to get here before we did _anything_.” 

“Alright. We’ll drop him off at his house while we look around. You said _everyone_ was asleep?”

“Seems that way.”

“That means more people might be outside. We should get somewhere with heat at least.”

“And we have to check on Stiles,” Derek said. “We have to see if…” He trailed off when Peter just stared at him with pity. “What?”

“I could be wrong,” he said carefully, “but I suspect this enchanted sleep was a side-effect to another curse being activated. And I believe it was probably Stiles’s curse.” 

Derek’s heart skipped; he swallowed before he spoke. “We don’t know that. We have to check.” 

Talia put her hand on his shoulder. “We will, Derek, I promise.”

 

The entire town _was_ asleep. Cars were running, sitting at stoplights with slumped over drivers in them; people were strewn over the sidewalks, on their cars, or in crosswalks, sleeping wherever they fell. Everything was eerily quiet. 

They took Sheriff Stilinski home first; Peter carried him while Derek unlocked the door.

“This is undignified,” Peter huffed. “This isn’t even _fun_ manhandling.”

“Peter!”

“ _What?_ ” he demanded, shifting his grip on Sheriff Stilinski. “I’m not going to do anything; I’m not _actually_ a terrible person. I’m also not blind, he has a very nice-”

“Peter! He’s twice your age and he’s Stiles’s _father._ And he’s unconscious!”

“Just open the damn door, Derek,” Peter grunted. 

“Put him in his bed,” Derek mumbled, stepping aside to let him in.

Peter muttered something too low for Derek to hear and carted him up the stairs. 

Derek couldn’t help looking around, hoping to find Stiles even though he knew he wasn’t there. 

“Okay, next stop, Stiles and Lydia’s office,” Talia said bracingly when they returned. “It’s going to be fine,” she said, patting his back and ushering him into the car. 

He highly doubted it. 

Seeing the office just proved him right. The whole building was overrun with thorny vines, blocking all the windows and doors. The jeep and Lydia’s sporty silver car were both parked out front. 

Derek got out, cringing slightly. He heard Peter swearing softly behind him but didn’t turn around. He went to the side of the building, but even the door to Stiles’s apartment was covered in thick layers of thorns.

Derek pressed his knuckles against his mouth, trying to shove back the black wave of despair rising in him. 

The sound of an engine idling nearby distracted him. His head snapped up. It hadn’t been there when they arrived. 

He ran around the back of the building, snarling and pouncing on the person who’d started to approach the building. 

“Whoa! Derek! It’s me!”

He pulled back at the familiar voice, breathing hard.

Deputy Parrish’s face was milk pale, eyes enormous and dark with fear. “Your fangs…--were you going to—?” He shook his head. “Never mind. Can I get up now?” 

Derek backed off, retracting his fangs. “How’re you still awake?” he demanded. 

He shook his head. “I don’t know. I’ve been looking for Sheriff Stilinski all night, since this happened.” 

“We took him to his house.” Derek stood and held a hand out. 

After a second, Deputy Parrish let him help him up. “Thanks.” He brushed gravel from his pants. “Is Stiles—?”

“No. He’s asleep. He’s-” Derek gestured behind his back. “In there.”

Deputy Parrish gave him a weird look before stepping around him to go investigate the thorn covered building. 

Derek braced his hands on his knees, taking deep, even breaths so he didn’t freak himself out.

His family was okay. Uncle Peter was with Mikaela and his mother just on the other side of the building.

 _But Stiles, but Stiles, but Stiles,_ his mind chanted. His breath picked up until he was gasping. _Kate got to him, she cursed him and he’s all alone._

“Derek.” A familiar hand pressed against his back, steadying him, leeching some of the crampy pain from his chest.

“Stiles—is—alone—because I-”

“Because _Kate_ ,” Peter said and he braced his other hand on Derek’s shoulder, pulling him upright. 

“You good?” he asked, studying his face.

Derek gulped in more air. “Yes,” he said.

“Okay. Come on. Talia and Mikaela tried tearing away some of the thorns but they grew back, unsurprisingly. “

“Great,” Derek breathed. He let Peter direct him back to the front of the building, where Talia was carefully picking thorns out of Mikaela’s palms.

“They all grew back,” she said apologetically. “But some of them grew back a little skewed.” She nodded toward the doors.

Derek looked. Some of the vines were shifted just enough that a sliver of glass door was visible. He ran to the door, pressing his face as close as he could without gouging out his eyes on the surrounding thorns. 

The lights were on, and there was a large pastry box on the front desk. 

Stiles was sprawled on the floor and one of his hands was bloodied. 

Derek squinted a little; the tips of his first three fingers were cut open. 

Stiles was breathing, his face relaxed in sleep, but the way he’d fallen looked too uncomfortable for a true slumber; one arm was pinned under his back, the other flopped out toward the door, and his legs were sort of crumpled up like he’d collapsed straight down.

Lydia was just beyond him, turned so only the splash of color that was her red hair against the carpet was visible. 

Derek stepped back, kneading his palms with his fingers and trying not to panic. Stiles was breathing, there was only a little bit of blood on his hand, and he was at least inside, out of the cold.

“I—we have to let Scott know,” he realized aloud. He turned to look at everyone. “Someone has to tell Scott—his mom is here, and he and Stiles are-”

“I’ll tell Isaac to call him,” Talia said, already pulling out her phone.

“We have to get people inside,” Deputy Parrish announced. “It’s going to keep getting colder, and we can’t leave them outside.”

Talia nodded, looking up from the rapid text she was composing. “I agree. Since my family is awake, we’ll split into groups and start getting people indoors. Public spaces would be best, that way we’re not breaking and entering,” she said, nodding toward Deputy Parrish’s uniform. She tucked her phone away.

Peter scowled. “We should be working on the curse.”

“We will,” she said, “after we get everyone out of the cold.”

He glowered at her like he was going to argue, so Derek said, quietly, “The faster we get this done, the faster we can start looking for a way to break the curse.”

Peter rolled his eyes. “Fine.”

Before they could go to the cars, though, Derek’s phone started to ring. 

He answered with a shaky, “Hello?”, half hoping it was Stiles.

“Is Stiles okay?” Scott asked. “What happened? All Isaac said was that Stiles’s curse had been activated and that everyone is asleep.”

“Oh…yeah. Stiles is sleeping, too. He’s—he and Lydia are in their office, asleep. The building is covered by thorns,” he relayed mechanically. He wasn’t sure why Scott wanted the info from him, but he deserved to know.

“Thorns?” Scott repeated, confused. “Why thorns?”

Panic made Derek’s voice tight. “I don’t know. They cover all the doors and windows.”

“Everyone is asleep?” Scott pressed.

“Maybe not _everyone,_ ” he replied, watching as his mother talked to the others about the plan. “Deputy Parrish is awake.”

“So maybe other people are awake, too. I’ve never heard of a curse that puts the whole town to sleep,” Scott mused. “But Stiles knows more about curses than me. Okay, I’m on my way. I should be there in a few hours.”

“You—what?”

“And can someone check on my mom? She’s probably at the hospital, but she _might_ be at home, I don’t remember her schedule.”

“Um—yeah,” Derek said, still surprised. “Yeah, we can do that.”

“Thanks! See you soon!” He hung up before Derek could ask about his school.

“Let’s go get the pack,” Talia said. “Scott’s on his way, we have to check on his mother during our rounds. Deputy, where do you suggest we start?”

“I was thinking the sheriff’s department. It’s fairly central, so we can fan out from there.”

“Great, we’ll do that. We’ll meet you there in thirty. Let’s go.”

Deputy Parrish looked either impressed or vaguely afraid, Derek couldn’t tell.

 

The pack was unsurprisingly a mess of nerves and tempers, all of them wanting to know what was going on and why Peter had told them to stay in the house and, loudest question of all, why they had been told to _listen_ to him.

Derek, overwhelmed by all the shouting on top of his own roiling nerves, left Talia and Peter to explain and went outside, sitting in the yard and counting in threes.

He’d made it to ninety-three and calmed down considerably by the time someone realized he was out there. 

Simon sat beside him. “You okay?”

“Not really.” He swallowed. “I can’t get to Stiles.”

“Mom told us.” He fidgeted with his sleeve. “We could all try tearing at the thorns at the same time, see if someone can get in there fast enough, before they grow back.” 

Derek shook his head. “He’s safe in there, at least. No one can get to him. And it’s warmish.” He shrugged. “Plus, we don’t know how to wake him up anyway.”

“Peter will figure it out.” He nudged Derek’s shoulder with his own. “Peter figured out our curse while he was _asleep._ ”

“But were you guys really sleeping?” Derek asked. He’d suspected for a while that while they seemed to be sleeping, they were really trapped in their own minds for eight years, conscious but unable to move.

Simon frowned at him. “What do you mean?”

“Peter moved around the house and even managed to interact—a little. Mom said she heard me talking to you guys, heard the others reading. How conscious were you?”

“It’s…hard to say.” He flicked a piece of grass off his shoe. “When someone was talking, I could hear them. I heard you tell us about Erica and Boyd, then Isaac when he came, and then Stiles. And I heard you tell us about Kate.”

Derek’s face flushed with shame. “You did?”

Simon bumped him gently. “Yeah. Yes, we heard you. Just…otherwise it didn’t really…feel like anything.” He dragged a hand through his light hair, the weak winter sun catching on the ends. He was light-haired, like Cora, Peter, and Emily, all of them so close to blonde it looked like they’d stumbled into the family on accident. “I don’t know. I don’t wanna say it’s _really_ like we were sleeping for eight years, but…”

“Boys! We’re leaving now!” Talia called from the driveway.

Simon rolled his eyes and pulled Derek to his feet. 

 

Locating the prone townsfolk and moving them to safer, warmer locations took Derek’s mind off things.

He, Laura, and Peter walked along the sidewalks while everyone else took cars. 

“Here’s someone,” Laura called from across the street. “Peter, can you put the car in park while I move her?”

“Yeah.” 

Derek found a family of three while they were moving the car out of the road.

Two young boys were holding the hands of a woman who smelled like their mother, sprawled peacefully in a crosswalk.

Derek awkwardly scooped up the two boys first, taking them into the craft store on the nearest corner.

The craft store was full of people, too, sleeping. There was a cashier flopped over the counter, still standing.

Derek set the boys down and went back for their mother. 

“I wonder if we can turn up the heat, just a little,” Laura said as she followed him in. “Those tiles can’t be very warm.” She deposited the woman she’d pulled out of the car on the floor a few feet from the family.

“We probably can, if we can find the thermostat.” Derek set the mother with her kids. “Where’s Peter?”

“Moving another car out of the road,” she replied absently. She wandered off to look for the thermostat.

Derek moved the poor cashier so he wasn’t slumped over anymore. 

“Found it,” Laura said. She snorted. “There’s a little plastic lockbox over it. Cute.” There was a whining noise as the plastic bent, then a loud _crack_ when she broke it. 

Overhead, the heaters groaned and clanked as they turned on.

“C’mon, let’s go stop Peter from stealing a car.” She hooked her arm around his neck. “You good?”

“No,” he admitted, “but this is helping.”

“Busy work. Mom’s the best at distracting her children.” Laura ruffled his hair. “Don’t worry so much. We’ll break the curse.”

“ _How?_ ” he blurted, shocked at how desperate he sounded. “All the records books are stuck inside the building with Stiles and Lydia, so how—?”

“That’s true, but the book Kate used to curse him isn’t in there.”

Derek rolled his eyes. “We don’t know where it is, though, or who gave it to her.”

“Yeah, but it’s got to be someone in Beacon Hills,” Laura pointed out. She held the door open for him. “As you can see, the majority of Beacon Hills is unconscious.”

“So?”

“So, if there’s no one to stop us, we can search wherever we want, bro,” she said with a wicked grin.

 

Peter sent Derek and Laura home to get food while he continued to move people indoors. 

Ethan, Boyd, and Simon were already at the house making sandwiches and piling them into coolers.

“Here, you can take these three coolers for you guys, and these two for Laini and Mikaela.”

“Who else? We can take more.”

“Okay, then these three are for Erica, Isaac, and Emily. We’re taking the rest to Talia, Dominick, and the girls.” Boyd stacked the coolers one on top of the other, leaving eight off to the side for Derek and Laura to take.

“Cool.” Laura picked up four of the boxes. “Thanks, guys!” She kissed Ethan’s cheek, ruffled Simon’s hair, and elbowed Boyd playfully. “C’mon, Der, let’s go deliver lunch.” She shoved four of the boxes into Derek’s arms and marched out of the kitchen.

“Don’t let her push you around,” Simon said wisely. “She already bosses the rest of us.”

Ethan popped him over the head. “She’s our next Alpha.”

“But she’s not our Alpha _yet._ ” Simon rolled his eyes at Derek.

“Derek!” Laura called.

“Coming!” He shot Boyd an exasperated look before he followed her out.

Erica and Isaac were carrying some construction workers into a CVS when Laura and Derek found them. Emily was sitting on the curb playing a game on her phone.

“It’s not like I can help,” she pointed out. “I don’t have werewolf muscles.”

“Here, use your non-werewolf muscles to pass out these sandwiches,” Laura said.

“Sure, a nice, easy job for the human,” Emily muttered.

“You can always help Uncle Peter,” Derek said.

She made a face at him. “No thanks.” She huffed. “Why doesn’t anyone let me pout?”

“Because we love you. Tell Erica and Isaac we’ll see them later. We’re going to drop these off with Laini and Mikaela, then we’re going to the hospital.” Laura put her hand on Derek’s shoulder and directed him away.

“Do you have to be so pushy?” he demanded.

“Yes, otherwise nothing will get done.” 

Laini was so thankful for the food that she teared up, which made Laura uncomfortable enough to just pass them their coolers and skitter out of there as fast as she could.

“You are _just_ like Mom,” Derek sighed. 

“Why does everyone have to cry all the time?” she complained. “I don’t know what to do with people who cry!”

Derek just shook his head. 

 

Peter met them outside of the hospital and chose to sit in the waiting room, which was full of people slumped in seats or on the floor.

It was beyond creepy, especially when Laura wanted to check on someone whose hand was bleeding. It _was_ bloodied, but it was no longer actually bleeding—the blood flow had stopped, it seemed, when the curse took effect. 

“That’s _really_ weird.” She looked at Derek. “Do you have any idea where Ms. McCall would be?”

“No. I thought we’d be able to find her by scent, but…”

“But this place reeks of cleaner and sick people.” She shrugged. “I heard her talking to Dad once, about the first floor. Maybe we won’t have to look long.” She looked at the halls to their left and right. “Pick.”

Derek rolled his eyes and went left. “Twenty minutes?”

“Fifteen. It shouldn’t take too long.”

Derek shook his head and went down the hall. There were people slumped against walls and in doorways, one in and one behind a wheelchair. 

He’d just started to think they were going to have to search the whole hospital when he found her.

She’d clearly been on her way out of the empty exam room, sprawled in front of the door. 

Derek called Laura. “I found her. Should we take her to her house?”

She snorted. “No. It’ll be confusing enough when she wakes up, so there’s no reason to completely throw her off when she wakes up by moving her.”

He scowled. “Well, I’m putting her on the bed. There’s no reason to leave her on the floor like this,” he said mockingly. 

“Good plan. Meet you in the waiting room.”

He rolled his eyes at her and shoved the phone back in his pocket. “Excuse me, Ms. McCall,” he mumbled. “But Scott asked us to come check on you and the floor looks really uncomfortable.” He picked her up easily, holding her out and away from his body, and deposited her on the bed.

He couldn’t just _leave_ her, though. This woman was practically Stiles’s second mother. He rooted around all the cabinets until he found a blanket to tuck around her.

“I’m sorry. I’m going to fix this,” he promised. “I’m sorry.” He rubbed his face and left the room, noting the room number before he went.

Peter and Laura were in the cafeteria at an empty table, eating their sandwiches. 

“Come sit,” Peter said, kicking a chair out at the table. “Have lunch.”

He sighed and sat down. “I don’t know what to do,” he said.

“You’re going to eat a sandwich,” Laura replied. “And give yourself a break, maybe? It’s not your fault.”

“Oh, really?” he demanded. “Because-” He choked when Peter shoved a sandwich into his mouth.

“You are trying to take the blame for something you have no control over. Eat your sandwich,” he ordered.

Derek glared at him over the sandwich, but with almost half of it in his mouth, he had no choice but to at least take a bite.

 

Scott arrived around five; Isaac texted Derek to let him know, since he, Erica, and Emily were near the town line and had seen him as he arrived. 

Derek replied with Melissa’s room number and told Isaac to let Scott know that she was okay.

He was sitting in the diner where Simon worked, waiting while Peter and Laura brought people inside. 

They’d regulated him to phone duty. 

It would have been more annoying if Derek could make himself care. 

The exertion of being in a car for four days, finding out about Stiles, then carrying at least half of the Beacon Hills residents into warm spaces seemed to have caught up to him. Derek was left feeling hollow, dazed, and exhausted to the point of apathy. 

Peter poked his arm. “Come on.”

Derek looked up slowly. “Where?”

“Home.”

He blinked and looked around. “Home? There are probably more people…”

“Yeah. The rest of us are going to keep looking. You’re going home.”

“Why?”

Laura leaned around Peter to flick his forehead. “Because you’re pretty much tapped out, bro.”

He forced himself to focus. “I am _not_. I just-”

“Need to go home and get some rest. Look, Laini’s taking Cora, Casey, Emily, and Lucy home for the night. You, Scott, and Isaac should go with her, keep her company and make sure the kids don’t run her ragged.” Peter shook his head. “She’ll be exhausted.”

“She’s only three months pregnant,” Laura pointed out. “She’s not an invalid.”

Peter rolled his eyes. “She’s been walking around all day, and she’ll be riding herd on four kids under fifteen. _Anyone_ would be tired.”

“Fine,” Derek mumbled. “I’ll go home.”

“Good.” Peter nudged him out of the booth. “Don’t worry. We’ll find the answer to this.”

He nodded shallowly. “Okay.”

“Laini’s outside in her car now,” Laura said, giving him a little shove. 

Isaac and Scott were in Scott’s car behind Laini.

“You can ride with them,” Laini said, yawning. “There’s no reason to squeeze in here when there’s room back there.” 

In the backseat, Lucy and Casey were clearly nodding off. Cora looked annoyed, sandwiched between them. Their heads were resting on her shoulders. 

Emily was in the front seat and when she noticed Derek, she only shot him a limp wave. 

“Yeah, alright.”

Scott looked grim, but he managed a smile for Derek when he saw him. “Hey, man, how’s it going?”

“Terrific,” he mumbled. “Did you go see your mom? Laura said we shouldn’t take her back home because it might scare her if—when we break the curse.” He got in the backseat. “Hi, Isaac.”

“Yes, I went to see Mom—thanks for getting her off the floor,” he said with a quick, grateful smile.

“How—”

“You did leave the things she was _carrying_ on the floor,” Scott said. “Anyway, what do you know about this curse?”

“Just that it must be the one Kate put on Stiles. He and Lydia are at their office, sleeping just like everyone else. We can’t get to them,” Derek added. “There are thorns covering the entire building.” He wasn’t sure if he’d told Scott that already. The memories of the day seemed sort of fuzzy and distant.

“They grow back quickly when we tear them down,” Isaac added helpfully.

“Okay.” Scott nodded. 

“So after we get everyone indoors, we start looking for a cure, right?”

“Stiles always said we should identify the curse first,” Scott replied. “So we know it’s a sleeping curse, but the thorns and the entire town sleeping are probably, like, signs, or maybe symptoms? Something that can _help_ us identify it.”

“So, what? We just look up sleeping curses? All the records are in their _office._ ”

“Peter has some,” Isaac reminded him. “The ones Stiles was reading to try to break _our_ curse are still there.”

“Yeah, but none of them helped with my curse.” 

“Because he had to save you with the power of his _love_ ,” Isaac teased gently. 

Scott hummed. “Still, Stiles would want us to find out as much as we can, to be safe. Just in case we manage to make it worse. The thorns keeping us out of the building are our next immediate problem.”

“Yeah. How can we try out cures if we can’t reach Stiles?” Isaac asked slowly. 

“We’ll have to try them on the thorns,” Derek said quietly. 

Scott nodded. “I agree.”

Derek leaned back and closed his eyes.

 

Derek and Isaac were recruited to help warm dinner for everyone—since Ethan was a regular insomniac, he tended to freeze meals he prepared, so all they had to do was heat them up and serve. Derek helped Laini get the kids to bed after they ate before splitting off to make his own plate.

 

Derek took his food with him when he slunk off to the library, but it was left to go cold while he gathered books from Peter’s collections—which were pretty much the only books that survived the fire anyway. He didn’t know what to look for—he cursed himself more and more for not paying much attention to Stiles’s process when he was working on a curse—but he wasn’t going to waste time.

At some point in the night, Scott, Boyd, Isaac, and Peter joined him, and stayed even when light began seeping through the windows.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ~~ _I know you, I walked with you once upon a dream....I know you, that look in your eyes is so familiar a gleam..._ ~~~ <3


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Monday!! Or Galentine's Day as Leslie Knope would say. Or Happy Feb. 13th! Happy CHAPTER TEN! 
> 
> Enjoy! Let me know what you think! :D
> 
> Minor edits made recently.

Stiles opened his eyes slowly, moving in small jerks and twitches. It was disorienting to realize that not only was he on the floor, but he was on the floor of the _office._ He wasn’t even in his apartment. 

“What the…” He stopped, because his voice sounded weird, echo-y and strange. Probably from sleeping on the floor. He sat up and rubbed his face, then looked at his hands. The first three fingers of his left hand felt stiff and painful, but they weren’t cut or swollen in any way. 

He flexed his hand and stood up, swaying a little. The whole room seemed sort of grey and washed out. He looked at the door; it was the same way outside. 

Must be cloudy, he thought, puzzled. “Hey, Lydia, why didn’t you wake me up?” he asked, walking down the hall to her office.

The door was open and she was at her desk, working on some paperwork, but she didn’t acknowledge him. 

“Hey? Lydia? You could’ve woken me up. I don’t really know why I was down here anyway…” 

She didn’t look up.

“Are you angry? Or can you not hear me?” He crept closer, his skin crawling slightly when Lydia’s eyes didn’t so much as flicker. 

She just marked something on the papers she was reading and continued down the page.

“Lydia! Lydia Martin!” He stalked across the room, slammed his hands on the desk in front of her, swept her stapler and files off the desk and onto the floor.

She didn’t move. Didn’t flinch or blink or glare at him.

Stiles rubbed the back of his hand over his mouth, backing away with enormous eyes. “Okay. Okay. Maybe you’re cursed.” He shook his aching hand absently and went to the front of the office, to his phone. He called Peter’s cell, but all he got was a dial tone. He dropped his phone and yanked his hands through his hair, breathing heavily.

“What’s going on?” He felt trapped and breathless, like the walls were shrinking in on him, so he stumbled out the front door, bending over his knees and gasping. 

Even though he could tell the sun was out—it was there, shining but greyed out, like everything else—it wasn’t particularly warm or cold, and everything still seemed faded, like a ghost town.

Speaking of ghost towns…Stiles straightened up and looked around. Everything was quiet. He frowned, looking left and right, but there didn’t appear to be any foot traffic. Or, upon closer inspection, any vehicular traffic, either.

He pressed his hands to his face and took a deep breath. Something clicked and he dropped his hands. 

“Where the fuck is my jeep?” Alarmed and a little pissed, he ran around the side of the building, where he _possibly_ could have parked it in the back.

It wasn’t there; neither was Lydia’s car. 

“What, did someone steal them?” he demanded. 

He went back inside for his phone and dialed the sheriff’s department, then his father’s cell. Neither worked. He set the phone on the desk very carefully.

He swallowed thickly and looked around. He licked his lips nervously.

“Guess I’m walking to the station. To report my car and Lydia’s and track down Peter so he can help me break Lydia’s weird trance thing.” Hearing a voice, even his own voice, calmed him a little, enough that he was able to take a deep breath and start walking.

He didn’t stay on the sidewalk; he wanted to see any cars or people that might be around, so he walked down the middle of the street. 

“Hello?” he called, for the hell of it.

The back of his neck tingled. He couldn’t say why or from where, but he suddenly felt like he was being watched. 

He looked around as he walked; the town was at once familiar and alien to him, like a painting he’d owned for years turned sideways. Everything was exactly where it should have been, but it was all silent, grey, and lifeless. 

Something made him turn down Sagamore Trace instead of heading toward the sheriff’s department. None of the yards had people in them and all the driveways were empty. 

Stiles started running when his childhood home came into view, skidding in the grass as he bolted up the yard.

“Dad?” he called, throwing open the door. “Dad, you home?”

He jogged through the living room to the kitchen first, and found John at the counter beside the sink, cutting something. 

Stiles frowned and stepped further into the room, stopping right beside him. “Dude, is that steak? I’m standing right here and you’re about to make fajitas?” 

John kept cutting as if he couldn’t hear him. 

Stiles felt sick. “What’s going on?” He poked John’s shoulder; it felt solid enough, and the force of it moved John slightly. “Dad? What the hell? Dad! _Dad!_ Johnathan Stilinski!” 

A creeping sensation washed over him again, like he was once again being watched. This time the sensation was vaguely familiar, like someone he _knew_ was watching him.

He looked around, drawing in a shuddering breath. Of course no one was there. John lived alone, except when Stiles was staying with him. 

Paranoid, he checked the guest room, then went upstairs to check his and John’s bedrooms.

They were the same as ever, unoccupied and vaguely cluttered. 

Stiles ran his fingers over the dent in the wall where he’d tripped over a t-shirt and bashed his head when he was thirteen, trying to make sense of all of…this.

He had to go check on Melissa. If the whole town was cursed—or maybe just Lydia and John, but if so, why? What was the connection _there?_ —then Stiles definitely needed help. 

He also had to make sure Melissa was okay. Maybe he could get a CT scan at the hospital, too.

The walk was just as eerie as the last, utterly quiet and still. There wasn’t even a breeze. He passed the diner and stopped to poke his head in, hoping to see Simon working.

It was just filled with other staff and customers, quietly going about their business. 

Stiles bit his lip, gaze darting to the hostess currently writing something down. Yelling, panicked, for his own father’s attention, was one thing. Yelling for attention in a diner was another. 

“Excuse me,” he began tentatively. He gasped when she looked up. “Can you—hear me?” he asked, stepping in further. 

She looked at him for another second before slowly dropping her gaze back to her notepad.

Stiles gaped at her for a solid two minutes. “Rude,” he finally managed. “Look, I’m not crazy, okay, I’m having a really weird—what are you even writing?” he demanded, annoyed. He stalked over to her little counter and looked at the notepad. 

_Bleach. Window cleaner. New mop heads,_ had been written across the page, not nearly enough to warrant her full attention for so long. 

“Hey. Seriously. I…”

The hostess looked up again, right toward the door where Stiles had been standing, and stared for a long moment before going back to her list.

“Oh my god.” He shook his head, frantic, and shoved his way back outside. 

He didn’t make any more pit stops on his way to the hospital; he just walked straight down the road, staring determinedly ahead, despite the sensation of eyes weighing on his shoulders, and rubbing the stinging fingers of his left hand against his right palm. 

There were people in the waiting room of the ER, all sitting or standing silently while the man at the registration desk stared emptily at his computer.

“Yeah, I guess asking where Nurse McCall is wouldn’t do a lot of good,” Stiles mused quite loudly. When no one looked his way, he sighed and started down a hallway at random.

It was so weird, walking among people and being completely ignored. 

He bumped into a doctor and apologized, but she didn’t even get knocked off track, didn’t glance at him or give him a dirty look.

He was still standing there in shock when someone in a wheelchair nearly ran over his foot; he leapt back with a yelp, right into an open exam room.

He turned and sighed. “Well, I suppose it’s good you’re alright,” he said, resigned. 

Melissa was in the room, cleaning it up with an irritated look on her face; the hospital was probably shorthanded. He recognized that particular scowl.

Her charts were all stacked on a counter that had clearly just been wiped down while she pulled a clean liner across the bed. 

“Gods, Mel, what am I supposed to do? No one can see or hear me—I can touch you, but it’s like you don’t feel it. Am I dead?” he asked with some horror. “No, that doesn’t make sense.” Maybe it did. Maybe he just couldn’t remember. “Well, Peter knows about moving around while he’s invisible. Maybe he’ll be able to help me.” He rubbed his fingers anxiously. “Unless I really am dead, in which case, there isn’t much he can do for me.” He paced around the room, trying to even his breathing. “But if I’m dead, then what _happened?_ Why don’t I remember dying? This better not be one of those movies where I don’t _know_ I’m dead.” He shook his head. “Peter will be able to help,” he decided, nodding to himself.

Melissa just kept straightening the room, oblivious to his rambling. 

He sighed and shuffled out. Being completely ignored was getting kind of old. And slightly depressing.

He wished he hadn’t left his phone back in the office, because at least he could play a game or some music on it while he walked. 

“Okay, so, I go find Peter and make him realize I’m here, and then he can go tell Lydia and they can bring me back or help me remember or something.” He hummed under his breath despite not feeling the urge to do so—anything to make noise in this place. 

Walking through the preserve was worse than walking through town; at least in town it was all open and the same washed-out sort of tone as everything else. In the preserve, everything was shadowy and confusing, difficult to see. It wasn’t fully dark, either, which made it even worse. 

Stiles figured it would have been easier if it was fully dark. His eyes probably could have adjusted if it was. 

This was just...awful. It didn’t help that as soon as he entered the trees, it felt like he was being watched. Again. 

He tripped a few times as he sped up, trying to escape the feeling of eyes on the back of his head. He somehow managed to avoid skinning his palms, though, which was a plus. 

He massaged his sore fingers as he walked, trying to think of how he’d get Peter’s attention. Maybe he’d just throw things at him until something connected. 

He just didn’t understand why John hadn’t heard him; Stiles had heard Peter more than once while he was invisible, or a spirit, or whatever he’d been. 

Stiles shook his head and located the clearing that was the Hale’s backyard, rubbing his eyes and the back of his neck. 

He just wouldn’t leave until he made someone hear him. There were plenty of people in the house…that…wasn’t…there. 

Stiles looked around; he was sure he was in the right place. He walked forward briskly and turned a slow circle. He was standing right where the front porch should have been, if he was correct. 

There was just grass and the gravel strip that made up the driveway that was _supposed_ to lead to the garage. 

He took several deep breaths, his head spinning slightly. “Where _are_ they?” He pulled his hands through his hair. “Where’s the _house?_ ” He saw something in the front yard, a dark patch of burned grass. He frowned and walked toward it, bending down slightly to run his fingers over the charred grass.

“Did you forget?”

He gasped, jerking upright. “What-” Something slammed into his chest, flinging him across the yard. He landed on the ground hard and looked up. 

Kate Argent was striding across the lawn toward him. 

“What the _fuck_ ,” he breathed, scrambling to his feet. 

“Did you forget that’s where you killed me?” she demanded, lifting a hand.

That same force threw him back again, slamming his back into a tree. 

“I didn’t kill you!” Stiles snapped. “You melted!” 

“Yeah, because _you_ jumped in front of a curse meant for the filthy werewolf.”

“For _Derek_ ,” Stiles seethed. “What does that have to do with your death?” he snapped.

The sight of her smirking, tossing her hair over her shoulder, reminded him of all the things that were her fault. Derek’s anxiety, the way he hesitated before he kissed Stiles, the way he was afraid he was taking advantage of Stiles. 

His hands fisted up, nostrils flaring. 

She laughed. 

Stiles rushed her, tackling her and swinging at her smug face. Before he could do anything else, she’d flung him off her.

“Part of my contract with the sorceress,” Kate said, brushing at her clothes as if the brief interlude of violence hadn’t happened. “But since we’re both here now…” She flicked her wrists, slamming him back into the tree and holding him pinned against it. 

“Where is here?” he demanded, struggling against _whatever_ she was using to keep him pinned. 

Her lips curled up in a smirk. “Wouldn’t you like to know?” She brought up her left hand and made a motion like she was slapping him.

His head whipped to the side, blood filling his mouth when his teeth dug into his cheek. He coughed. “What the fuck? Are you telekinetic here? How did that even-” 

She slapped him again. “Don’t ask questions. It’s going to ruin this moment for me.”

“What _moment_ , you psychopath? Is this a revenge thing for you? Because you realize, despite any curses, _I was not the one who killed you?_ And you’re the one that cursed _me._ ” 

Before she could answer, fog rolled through the clearing, thick and cold enough that Stiles felt his toes going numb almost immediately. 

Kate snarled. “Go away, you insufferable spook,” she snapped. 

Stiles sensed someone standing just out of his range of sight, someone familiar, but he couldn’t crane his neck enough to see. 

The fog thickened further, gathering into a ball around Kate.

Whatever she’d been doing to hold him there stopped when the fog enveloped her. 

“Let go of me!” Kate raged. “When I get out of here, you miserable hag, I’m going to rip his intestines out through his nose!” 

Stiles, not entirely sure why, took a hesitant step toward the fog, but a thin tendril of it reached out, pressing against his chest like a hand holding him in place. It pushed, gently, until he stepped back. Tears pricked his eyes, but he couldn’t say why. 

Kate screamed furiously about tearing his eyeballs out.

“Thank you,” Stiles whispered, turning and running away.

He rubbed his face as he walked, clearing it of the tears that’d spilled. Whatever that fog was, it’d felt so…familiar. 

“Focus,” he reminded himself. He pinched his sore fingers, irritated at the persistent pain.

So now he had Kate to worry about. _Telekinetic_ Kate. Was that because she was a ghost? Did that mean Stiles was a ghost, too?

Stiles was _not_ ready to be dead.

Anxious, he pressed his thumbnail into the skin of his aching fingers and walked faster. 

Maybe he was in a coma. Maybe it was like one of those romantic dramas where the only person who could hear him was Derek.

Of course, Derek was in New York, or on his way to New York, and none of the Hales were anywhere Stiles could think of—their house wasn’t even there. 

An echoing shriek of fury cut through his thoughts, spurred him to walk faster. 

He ended up back on the road, walking slowly and looking around. 

There still wasn’t anyone outside, but he felt like there was someone nearby. Someone familiar…

He shook his head and kept walking. He wasn’t even sure where he was going—wherever he went, no one could hear him, or see him.

He wasn’t hungry, either, or particularly tired. He was just…existing. Oh god. Maybe he _was_ dead. 

Maybe he’d go to Jordan. Maybe he’d hear him. Since Peter was, for some reason, nonexistent in this…world? Universe? Plane?...Stiles was going to have to find someone. He supposed he could have gone to Heather’s flower shop, but he was closer to Jordan’s apartment, and he didn’t think he could handle any _more_ of his friends ignoring him.

He sang on his way there, at the top of his voice, any song he could remember enough of, just to dispel the buzzing silence. 

Jordan lived on the third floor of his apartment building, so Stiles had to go in the hallway and up the stairs before he found it. 

There he was presented with a problem. The problem manifested in the form of Jordan’s front door.

If no one could hear Stiles talking, singing, yelling, or knocking things over, how was he supposed to knock and get Jordan to answer?

“Well, if I am a ghost or a spirit…” He squared his shoulders and walked confidently forward. 

He bounced off the door and landed on his butt. “Ow. Okay, ow, maybe I’m not a ghost. Or ghosts can’t actually walk through walls.” He sat on the floor for a moment, sort of dazed. 

What _if_ he was dead? How’d he die? He shouldn’t be _dead_ , he wasn’t even old enough to drink! And, oh, _no_ , what about his _dad?_

“No, no, I do not accept. I’m not dead.” He jumped to his feet and started hammering on the door with the side of his fist. “Jordan! Open up! Come on, _someone_ has to hear me!” He banged on it a few more times, shouting, before he reached for the knob in desperation and turned it.

The door opened without resistance, swinging inward and exposing Jordan’s kitchen.

Stiles frowned, creeped out.

Jordan _never_ left his door unlocked; it was "stupidly negligent", in his words. 

Stiles walked in carefully, looking around. Everything looked normal, the kitchen clean but not spotless, a stack of books piled haphazardly beside the coffee maker, and a jacket tossed over the chair nearest the door. 

Stiles walked the rest of the apartment, not entirely surprised to find that Jordan wasn’t there. 

He was staring at a picture on the wall, a framed one of himself, Jordan, and John at the annual sheriff’s department cookout the previous summer, when the back of his neck tingled. His back stiffened, but whatever presence he sensed didn’t seem threatening. 

“Who are you?” he asked. He didn’t turn from the wall, since whoever it was would probably leave if he turned. “Come on, I know you’re there.”

He tipped his head slightly; he could just make out a shape from the corner of his eye, a shadow, but nothing to give him a clue.

His fingers throbbed; he pressed them against his leg. “Well, thanks for the help. With Kate.” He sighed sadly. “I’m, um, going to the sheriff’s department next. Gonna try to see if the guy who lives here is there. He…might…be able to help me.” He tried turning his head a little, but the shadow just moved with him, staying in his peripherals. “Well…bye.” He went to the door and could have sworn he heard a voice say, “Goodbye,” but he didn’t turn around.

He sang ‘ _Carry On Wayward Son_ ’ on the way to the station, loudly and off key, but with enough passion to make up for it, he thought.

The outside of the station was absurdly barren; Stiles couldn’t remember a time when there weren’t vehicles of some kind in the lot. 

Inside, there were a few people doing mundane tasks, ignoring Stiles, per usual. 

It was then that Stiles realized no one but Kate had spoken at all. 

Not even in the diner, really. They were all doing something, but not a single person was making the noise that people make. 

Stiles stole a pen from Deputy Mills’s hands and she didn’t bat an eye; she took her papers to the copier and started making copies. 

He sighed deeply. “I suppose none of you will tell me where Deputy Parrish is?”

The man in the waiting area just flipped a page of the paperwork he was filling out.

Stiles sighed and headed toward John’s office, which was near Jordan’s desk. 

Deputy Gulette was there instead, sifting lazily through the papers like she was browsing rather than looking for anything specific. 

Stiles tapped on her shoulder. “It’s rude to snoop,” he said. It wasn’t like she could hear him. “Where the hell _is_ he, if he’s not here or at home?”

Okay, logically, he could have been anywhere in Beacon Hills; he could have been getting groceries or at the doctor or _anywhere_ , and Stiles was frustrated at the endless possibilities. It wasn’t like he could go driving around looking for him. 

“And where the fuck are the Hales?” he demanded aloud, kicking the leg of Jordan’s desk.

A cup of pens toppled and spilled onto the floor, not that Deputy Gulette noticed.

He sighed and left. Maybe Laura was at Heather’s place. Weren’t werewolves more sensitive to spirits or something? Or was that babies?

Laura was not at Heather’s flower shop. Lexa was at the counter, drawing her name and Heather’s in a ring of hearts on the back of a receipt. 

“I don’t suppose you can hear me, either?” he sighed.

Her pen hesitated, just a split second of stillness before she resumed tracing over her hearts. 

Stiles was loathe to get his hopes up after the diner, but— “Lexa!” 

Her brows furrowed slightly, her pen faltering for real. She didn’t look up, though, and after a second, she resumed drawing and Stiles couldn’t get her attention again. 

He tried. He kicked over pots and screamed and broke things, but she didn’t look up. 

In the back room, Heather was making notes on a clipboard and she didn’t bat an eye when Stiles threw a glass vase onto the floor, shattering it.

“Ugh.” He stomped back outside. 

“Found you,” Kate sang, and threw him down the sidewalk.

He rammed into a light pole, air gusting out of his lungs. He stood up shakily and braced himself for her next hit, legs spread, but it didn’t matter—she swung her hand and three windows shattered to his left. 

He threw his hands over his head, but the glass never reached him.

“Go!” a painfully familiar voice shouted. “ _Go!_ ” 

Stiles ran, because he was so shocked, because he knew that voice, but in a dreamy way, a distant way, that made him unsure of _how_ he knew it.

He ran home, of course; he didn’t even realize it until he was panting with his back braced against the front door. 

He was in his father’s house, because it was home, it’d always been home, and he went there when he was afraid. 

And he _was_ afraid; what could he do, really, against a telekinetic ghost, except run?

He found John in the kitchen, at the same counter, cutting up the same piece of meat. 

“This is so fucked up,” he breathed. “You’ve been doing that for hours, you know? It’s been hours. Is everyone just repeating the same tasks over and over? What’s going on?” He let his shoulders thump against the wall as he fell back, covering his face. “ _Am_ I dead? Are we all dead?”

“No.” 

He straightened up, taking a moment to just breathe. “We’re not?”

“You aren’t dead.”

He swallowed. “Who are you?” he asked, turning around. 

The shadowy figure had moved back, just a dim, foggy shape in the hallway.

He stepped forward; they stepped back. “I know you, don’t I?” He didn’t realize _how_ familiar that quiet voice was, not before, but, now, in this house…

“You did.”

 _That voice_ … “I did, didn’t I?” He stepped forward again. “I do know you,” he murmured, mostly to himself. “And you—you know me.” 

“Yes.”

He was panting, he realized, one hand pressed against the wall to keep himself upright because he knew that voice. He knew that shape. His voice broke as he asked, “Mom?”

Claudia solidified, became clearer. Her eyes, the same shade of brown as Stiles’s own, were watering, a shaky smile fluttering over her face. “Hi, baby,” she whispered, and Stiles threw himself at her with a cry, like he was nine-years-old again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surprise! <3


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hiii! Thursday is here and here is chapter 11!! :D Hope you enjoy! <3 Tell me what you think!

_Bird bones and the dead leaves of a rose bush—_ Derek grimaced, looking away. Bird bones? Where does one acquire bird bones?

He looked up, frustrated. 

Peter and Mikaela were in front of Stiles and Lydia’s office, pouring an experimental potion over the thorns covering the door while Scott sat behind them, reading off instructions for them.

Derek wanted to be around when they tried, but there wasn’t any reason for him to hover or stop researching. 

“Derek, there’s nothing in that book,” Laura sighed. She was sitting on the hood of Peter’s car, sipping from a McDonald’s cup.

If Talia knew she’d gone in and filled a cup without leaving a dollar on the counter, she’d have killed her. 

“Yeah, well, maybe we missed something. This one says—it says a dead rose leaf and, um, and bird—bird bones.”

She turned to make a face at him through the windshield. “Gross. We shouldn’t have to _kill_ anything to break a curse. Curses are the dark, cures are the light. Or something.” She turned to face Peter and Mikaela again.

Derek shook his head. “We don’t _have_ to kill the bird. I don’t think.” He scratched his nose and jumped to the next curse. 

_Enchanted sleep—a spell most often mistaken for a curse. It is actually used to preserve someone, usually a person with a terminal illness. It is easy to reverse. Read this for more._

He snorted and flipped to the next page. He despised Kate, but she wouldn’t make such a stupid mistake as putting Stiles under an enchanted sleep that could be broken with a few simple words.

Peter straightened, brushing his hands off. “I didn’t think it would work. For the record.” 

Mikaela brushed her hair out of her face, frustrated. “Well, it could have. The book I read said it might.” 

Scott closed the book, looking put out.

Derek’s phone chirped, then started ringing. “Hello?”

“Hey, Derek. You know how Deputy Parrish has been supervising our _totally justified_ home invasions?” Dominick asked. 

“Um, yes.”

“We have a slight problem. Bring Scott.”

Dominick, Deputy Parrish, Talia, and Cora were waiting outside of the house at 187 Old Saunders Road. 

Derek had only come with Scott and Laura; Peter and Mikaela had stayed to do more research, to try to come up with another cure.

“What’s going on?”

“Well, we’ve only searched a couple houses so far,” Dominick began. “Simon and Ethan are across town doing the same, but…”

Something started barking in the house.

It was the first real noise there’d been in town since yesterday. 

Derek stared at the house in amazement. 

“There are three large dogs in that house,” Talia explained. “We _could_ get past them, but we don’t want to cause them any undue distress, especially considering everything.” 

“That’s why we asked for Scott.”

“Does this mean _all_ the pets are awake?” Scott asked. He was already inching closer to the house, as if he was as drawn to animals as they were to him. “Because if they are, we have to get them. They need food, water…supervision.”

Talia’s mouth tightened. “You’re right, of course. That means we’ll have to check every house,” she sighed. 

“Not necessarily,” Scott said slowly. “The patients’ records have addresses in them at Deaton’s office. It’s the fish we’ll have to look for,” he said apologetically. “I can go to the office, get all the addresses, and get the space ready. Some of the bigger dogs, and the cats, can probably just stay home, as long as we feed them, but the senior and young pets will need more attention, just like any injured pets. They can stay at the clinic, I’ll stay with them.” He nodded firmly and marched up the front walk. 

“Scott, those dogs don’t sound very friendly,” Dominick called.

They all leaned forward, braced to intervene as Scott approached the door. 

The barking got louder; Derek took a couple steps forward, concerned, but Scott wasn’t bothered. He just opened the (apparently unlocked) front door and bent to greet the labs and shepherd that rushed out, barking loudly.

Derek managed one, lunging step before the dogs were smothering Scott in licks and frantically wagging tails. 

Laura and Cora laughed first. 

Dominick rolled his eyes. “Right, how could we forget?”

“Okay, Scott. What do you want us to do?”

Derek wanted to be looking up more cures for Stiles’s curse. He wanted to be useful, for once, and do something good or helpful. He hated that he was just standing here. 

“We’ll have to go to the clinic so I can get the addresses for the pets.” He patted the bigger lab, which was butting his leg for attention, while he spoke. “I can go on my own and send the addresses you need.”

“Alright. Take Peter’s car, and pick up Boyd and Isaac to help you, hmm?” Talia tucked her hair behind her ear. “I’ll mobilize the rest of the troops.”

Laura held out the keys to Scott.

Derek paced away, interlocking his hands behind his head. 

Deputy Parrish, for _whatever_ reason, walked alongside him. 

“There’s a house up here,” he said in a stilted voice. “He’s got about five cats that’ll probably need food and water.” 

“Right,” he mumbled.

“And since their pets are in danger and I am technically the only law enforcement in town, I can go in with you. If you wanted help.” 

“Okay.”

Deputy Parrish tried the door, frowning when he found it unlocked, but Derek wasn’t all that surprised; none of the houses had been locked so far, so why should this one be?

The cats scattered at the sight—maybe the scent—of Derek, so he just walked in. 

There was an older man on the couch, sleeping sitting up, sort of.

Derek decided the chances that he’d already been sleeping when the curse hit were probably 70/30. 

“I’m going to cover him,” Deputy Parrish said, stepping around him. 

Derek hunted down the cat food, popping open a couple of tins; apparently that sound and smell were enough to override the ‘danger!’ signals the cats got from him. 

All five were hovering around his ankles, making plaintive noises.

“I don’t want to be here either,” he muttered, stepping over them to find their food dishes. 

While they ate, he filled their water bowls and tried not to think of the _time_ he was wasting.

He gave the cats their water. 

Deputy Parrish was waiting at the door. “Have you made any progress with the curse?” he asked carefully.

Derek found this a stupid question, since he hadn’t slept in two days and looked it, and he was here, with these cats, and Deputy Parrish, so obviously, _no_ , he was not making progress. 

“Not really,” he answered, reminding himself that Deputy Parrish was Stiles’s friend. “Peter and Mikaela are trying out some concoctions on the thorns right now.” 

“Right.” He closed the door behind them, checking the lock he’d flipped before stepping out. “Well, I don’t know how to help. I want to help but there’s nothing I can do. I don’t know anything about this.” He sighed and put his hands in his pockets. “So, I’m supervising break-ins.” 

Derek sighed quietly. “We just have to find the book Kate used to curse Stiles, or the sorceress who gave her the magic. We have no leads except that the sorceress who gave Kate the magic _maybe_ had a prejudice against werewolves and didn’t want her cursing a human—that’s what Lydia thinks, anyway. She thinks that’s why Kate melted when Stiles—when he, um, when he…” Derek got caught up and shook himself. “So she broke the contract and she melted.”

“I don’t know any sorceresses who are notably _against_ werewolves,” Parrish said, frowning slightly. 

“There’s only my family here anyway,” Derek mumbled. He was listening hard for even slight movement as they walked, which was probably why he jumped so violently when a door flew open across the street. 

A woman ran out of her house, her coat barely half on, calling out, “Hey!” as she tried to catch up to them. 

“Ma’am,” Parrish said, taken aback.

“Oh, thank gods,” she puffed as she reached them. “I was starting to wonder if I was the only one awake.”

She smelled like herbs and magic, though this magic smelled different than the magic that Kate had reeked of.

“No, ma’am, you aren’t. Do you know why the curse didn’t put you to sleep?”

She shook her head. “Not a clue. My kids and sister fell asleep a few days ago while they were wrapping gifts. I knew it was a curse, but I’ve no idea why it didn’t affect me.” Her eyes narrowed slightly. “And why didn’t it affect you?”

“I’m not sure either,” Parrish said honestly. “Derek and Talia were out of town—”

“Hale?” she asked, looking at Derek.

“Yes.”

She hummed. “I’m Maude Trevil. I’ve been trying to find a way to wake everyone up, but nothing’s worked.”

“The curse…” Derek cleared his throat. “Everyone sleeping is a side effect of another curse—um, Stiles Stilinski is the one who…Kate Argent cursed him.”

“I heard. So the curse activated on its own. Hm.” She looked at Derek directly. “Where’s the Cursed? If this is a side effect, maybe I can break it.”

“He’s at his office.” Derek pressed the tips of his fingers against the sides of his legs. “It’s covered in thorns-”

“That’ll be another symptom.” She twisted her necklace in her fingers. “Well, nothing to do but try to break it, right?”

“Right.” Parrish nodded firmly. 

“What do you think will help?” Derek couldn’t stop himself from asking. “We’ve been trying to break the curse; Peter’s been trying mixtures of crystals and flowers and-”

“Do any of you have magic?” Maude interrupted. “Sometimes the only cure to a curse involves magic. Maybe I can help.”

“I…” Derek sighed and shook his head. “Alright. Come with us.”

“The Hale pack is currently gathering pets,” Parrish said rather confidently for such a ridiculous statement. “The curse doesn’t seem to have reached the animals in town.”

“No, it wouldn’t. I didn’t even consider that.” Maude brushed her hair back and zipped up her coat. “So, where’s the Cursed? His office? Lead the way, Deputy.” 

Parrish drove in his cruiser. Derek sat in the back and texted Talia to let her know where he was going and, of course, about Maude. 

She replied with some surprise that she’d gone to school with a Maude Trevil.

Derek put his phone away. He was most certainly not asking if Maude remembered attending high school with his mother. 

Older people were just slightly grayed, wrinkled teenagers. Someone ought to do a study on it.

Seeing Stiles and Lydia’s office all covered in thorns had its usual effect of gut-wrenching guilt on Derek. He took it in stride and climbed out when Parrish opened the door for him.

Peter looked up, annoyed. “Get bored playing animal control?” he asked, using claws to shred a rose into a bowl sitting in Mikaela’s lap.

“No, we found a witch who was still awake, like Deputy Parrish,” Derek explained. 

“I told you, you can call me Jordan, Derek,” he sighed. “This is Maude Trevil,” he added to Peter. 

“I think I can help,” she said. “Or I hope I can. What kind of curse are you trying now?”

“Roses, sunflower petals, dove feathers,” Mikaela said. “We have some sea glass we thought about trying, and salt water.”

Maude nodded and approached the building. She looked up at the thorns like she was measuring them, frowning slightly. 

“Does anyone have a knife?” she asked, hands on her hips. 

“You can’t cut the thorns away,” Peter said. “They grow back too quickly to make a difference.” He held out a knife anyway. 

“Yes,” Maude agreed. She took the knife to the thorns and hacked a portion off, observing as it grew back. “We can try to use the thorns _in_ the cure, though.” She handed Peter his knife back and muttered something under her breath; the tips of her fingers started to glow. She traced them over the thorns carefully. 

Derek rubbed his face, looking away. He grabbed one of the books stacked beside Mikaela’s knee and opened it.

“That one came from home,” she said. She was plucking petals off of a sunflower, dropping them one by one into the bowl in her lap. “From Peter’s collection.”

“It’s called _The Magic_ ,” he said dryly. “Why does he have it?”

She shrugged and started breaking up the stem. “He thinks it might be useful.”

Maude approached and dropped the thorns, glimmering with magic, into the bowl. “Crush it with the rest of the ingredients and add some of the seawater.” 

Mikaela glanced at Peter.

“Sure, try that.” He frowned at Maude. 

“It’s something I made up,” she said defensively. “Sometimes you need a bit of the curse, and the thorns came from the curse.” She shook her head at the building. “So, who did you say cast this curse?”

“Kate Argent,” Peter replied. “She wasn’t a sorceress, she just got magic from one.” 

“Who?”

“That’s a good question.” Peter dropped a hand on Derek’s shoulder. “We’re trying to figure that out. She got her curses from a book she was given, most likely by the sorceress who gave her the magic.” 

“Huh. Now, Kate Argent would be the sorceress—the _poser_ sorceress—who cast the Hale curse eight years ago?” At Peter’s nod, she looked at the thorns again. “Sleeping curse, containment curse…” 

“It was actually based on the story of _Beauty and the Beast_ ,” Peter said. “She based the curse loosely on a faery tale.” 

Maude made a face. “That’s new. Any idea if this one is based on a story?”

“Not yet.” He squeezed Derek’s shoulder and let go. “We’re working on it.”

“Right. Do you have any idea where the book she used is?”

“No. Deputy Parrish is supervising the, um, search for it, actually.” Peter picked up a book and started flipping pages. “We’re looking specifically for a sorceress who has something against werewolves.” 

Maude lifted her brows. “Why is that?”

“Because Kate melted when she cursed Stiles,” Derek said flatly. It wasn’t like he was able to focus anyway. “When she cursed him, there was blue writing all over her skin and a voice said, ‘The contract has been breached’. We assume the contract had something to do with not cursing humans.”

Maude nodded. “I see.” She walked closer to the thorns.

“I’m going to head back,” Deputy Parrish said. “Help out with the animals.” 

Peter nodded. “I figured.” He turned away while Deputy Parrish scowled at his back.

He rolled his eyes and looked at Maude. “Are you going to stick around here, Ms. Trevil? I can give you a ride if you want.”

“I’ll stay here, help out for a bit.” She smiled tightly.

He got into his car and pulled off. 

“Okay, it’s ready,” Mikaela announced. She stood with the bowl and held it out to Peter. “Should we pour it over the ones on the door or what?”

“Sure.” He took the bowl from her and went to the door. 

When he threw the mixture at the thorns, they began to sizzle, enough that Derek sat up straighter, sure they were going to burn away. 

They only sizzled and withered a moment before growing back as they had before. 

Derek sighed and looked at the book in his lap. 

_Essence of lavender on a crow feather, burned at dusk._

What could that possibly do to help them? And how were they going to get a _crow_ feather?

“We tried that one,” Mikaela said, reading over his shoulder. “It smells gross.” 

“It says you have to do it at _dusk_.”

“And what do you think we were doing yesterday?” she demanded.

He shook his head. “Okay.”

She sat down behind him and picked up a book.

“I want to try some spells,” Maude announced. “You don’t mind, I presume.”

“We just want to break the curse.” Peter gestured at her to go on before going to a large paper bag he had in the parking spot beside his foot and pulling out various flowers.

Derek flipped to the next page. 

_Sleeping curse of my father’s mother. The Cursed will fall where they stand and sleep until these ingredients are mixed and poured over the Cursed._

He nudged Mikaela. “Have you tried this one?” he asked dully.

She peered over his shoulder. “Huh. Nope. We skipped the ones that needed magic, figured we’d save those for last. But now that we have Maude…” 

A bang came from where Maude was facing the building, followed by a puff of poisonous-looking green smoke.

She stumbled back, coughing. “I’d say that was surprising, but most curses need more than a general ‘go away’ spell to break.” She coughed into her sleeve and cleared her throat, backing away from the office.

“Let’s try this,” Mikaela said, taking the book from Derek.

“What?” Peter demanded.

“It says we need three crow feathers, a shed snakeskin, magic, blood of the willing, and fresh spring water.”

Peter looked annoyed. “We only have two of those things.” He stood up and took the book. “How _much_ blood?”

“About a cup,” Mikaela recited from memory, pointing at the bottom of the page.

“We can use mine,” Derek offered. 

“We still need the feathers, snakeskin, and spring water,” Peter pointed out. “Which means we’ll need to start looking around. Someone needs to go to the spring to get the water, but otherwise the snakeskin and the feathers are going to be harder to find.”

“I can go to the vet, ask Scott if he has any ideas about the animal stuff,” Derek suggested. 

“I’ll come with you,” Mikaela offered.

Maude hummed. “I suppose I can get the water.”

“I’ll join you.” Peter crossed his arms. 

“Because you don’t trust me to get a jar full of _spring water_?” she asked, exasperated.

“No, not really,” he replied with a pleasant smile.

“At least you’re honest,” she huffed. “I went to school with your sister. You were a brat then, too.”

“You’re remembering Ethan,” Peter said dismissively. “I wasn’t born until after Talia graduated.”

“Let’s just go, Der, Peter will stand here arguing for hours, and Stiles’s curse isn’t going to get broken on its own.” Mikaela stood and brushed her pants off, setting her book on the stack. 

Derek got up, too. “We’ll be back, Peter,” Derek mumbled. 

“We’re going now, too,” he replied. “After Boyd gets here with my car.”

He pulled up just a few minutes later. “I’ll walk back with Derek and Mikaela,” he said as he stepped out.

Erica got out of the passenger seat, eyeing Peter warily.

“What?” he demanded.

“Nothing,” she said instantly.

He stuck his head in the car. “Cats? Erica!”

“Kittens! We were only transporting them. Just open all the windows!”

Boyd, seemingly bored with the two of them, walked away, toward the office. “Isn’t there anyway we can rip the thorns away? Even long enough to get in there. I feel bad, leaving him in there by himself.”

“Lydia’s in there,” Mikaela pointed out.

Boyd shrugged; Derek knew what he meant.

None of the _pack_ was in there with him, none of them could reach him or even hear his heartbeat. They couldn’t drape a blanket over him if he got cold, or move his arm if he slept on it weird.

Derek almost missed his own curse.

“Let’s go talk to Scott,” Mikaela said, nudging Derek’s arm.

Erica got in the backseat of Peter’s car, insisting on going with them.

Boyd waved and started walking with Derek and Mikaela. 

Scott and Isaac were at the clinic, rounding puppies, kittens, injured pets, and senior pets into kennels or exam rooms.

They mostly seemed to be following Scott, so Isaac was tasked with closing the doors quickly after Scott came out. 

“Oh, hey, guys. What’s going on?” Isaac asked, a kitten in each hand.

“We needed to ask Scott a question. About crows.” Mikaela held her hands out until Isaac relinquished one of the kittens to her. 

“I’ll get him.”

Boyd patted the head of a large, gray-faced mutt that bumped her nose against his hip.

Groaning, she lowered herself on top of his feet. 

“Hey, what’s up?” Scott asked, stepping over a cat with a little cast on its back leg.

“We need a snakeskin and three crow feathers for a cure for Stiles’s curse. We’re trying things and this one seems promising.” 

Scott frowned. “The snakeskin, I can’t really help you with. We don’t have any snakes here and even then, it’s not like I can make them shed.”

“What about the crows?” Mikaela asked carefully.

“They usually find me in the park,” he sighed. “Isaac, could you watch-?”

“Yeah, no problem,” he said quickly.

“Thanks. I’ll be right back, promise.”

“I’ll come with,” Boyd said; Scott shot him a quick grin and held the door open for him while they left.

Derek rubbed his face. “Mikaela, go ahead and go with Scott and Boyd.”

She frowned at him. “Why?”

“It’s cold out—just go. Please.”

She shrugged and jogged out to catch up. 

“It was easier when you were our Alpha, huh? We had to listen.” Isaac stroked the kitten’s ears. 

Derek scowled. “I never meant to give you _orders._ ”

“I know, but it helped when you _did_.” He rubbed the kitten against his cheek. “What do we do about the snakeskin?”

He shook his head. “I don’t know.” And he couldn’t think of a solution, not when his brain was fogging up with a sense of despair and failure. Why try when he knew it was useless? Left to him, his family had been stuck for years.

The one who’d finally fixed it was currently cursed himself. 

“Derek? Did you hear me?” Isaac poked his arm, making him flinch.

He blinked. “What?”

“I said Cora’s outside.”

Derek straightened and went out to meet her.

She was carrying a mastiff who looked okay, maybe a little put out.

“Why are you carrying her?” he asked warily.

“Something’s wrong with her hips,” Cora replied. “I dunno. Mom said to bring her, so I brought her. Where’s Scott? I don’t hear him.”

“He went to the park to get some stuff we need. Trying to break Stiles’s curse. Here, let me take her.”

“I got it,” she snapped. “Just open the door.”

He rolled his eyes and held it open for her. As she was passing, Derek caught a whiff of magic from the dog, just a little, enough to indicate the mastiff had a witch owner, maybe a protective collar. 

An idea popped in his head. “Hey, Isaac…”

“Yeah?”

“Don’t sorceresses use…animal bits, sometimes, for their potion and spell work?” he asked slowly. 

Isaac’s eyes lit up. “Yes!” 

“Tell Boyd and Mik I’ll be back.” He shoved the door back open and rushed out.

“Where’re you going?” Cora demanded. She lowered the mastiff onto a cushion and chased him. “I’m coming with!” 

“Why?”

“Because—where are you even going?” she asked, lengthening her stride to catch up to him.

“I’m going to find a sorceress or sorcerer’s house and try to find a snakeskin in their stores. They sometimes use parts of, um.” He hesitated and glanced down at her. 

She glared at him. “I’m twelve, not five. I know what they use animals for.”

“Well then you know why I’m going to look in their houses. I think Alexander Wayne lives on Eness Drive, this way.”

Thankfully, they lived in Beacon Hills, and everything was right on top of everything else.

Alexander Wayne’s house on Eness Drive was large and ostentatious, especially compared to its slightly more modest neighbors.

Cora snorted. “He’s got a Hummer, Derek. A _red_ Hummer.”

“I see that.”

“There are _statues_ in his yard,” she snickered, plucking at Derek’s jacket sleeve. 

“I can see them, Cora.”

“But why? This guy is an ass,” she decided.

“That’s great, yeah, come on,” he mumbled.

The door was unlocked, which was strange. Derek would have assumed a big place like this would be locked with alarms set.

He could hear a slow, steady heartbeat just beyond the marbled foyer, along with about four others, deeper within the house.

“So, how do we find their stuff?” Cora asked, creeping inside behind Derek.

“Our noses, hopefully.” He smiled when she smacked his arm and huffed, annoyed.

“All I smell is liquor and magic and cleaning chemicals. Why do people use so much spray?” she whined.

“Because they can’t smell it,” he mumbled, distracted. “Follow the scent of magic.”

The house was lavishly decorated with all sorts of interesting art and weird decanters that smelled like magic and blood. Gross.

The kitchen was where the strongest magic-scent was coming from. There was an ornate pantry separate from where the food was kept. 

“Gross. What’s that?” Cora pointed at a jar with something thick and green in it.

“I don’t know, so don’t touch it.” Derek carefully opened the pantry doors.

Every other jar and box was labeled, luckily. Derek kept his back to Cora to block most of them—some seemed gross and he didn’t want her to freak out.

He was pretty sure one of them had blood and organs in it. He could have been wrong. He didn’t think he was. 

“Gross,” Cora repeated. “It all stinks like blood and bad magic.”

“Yep and it’s gross to look at, too.” He pushed jars aside, reading labels and cringing slightly with each new label. 

He let out a sigh of relief when he found a baggie labeled _snakeskin_.

“Got it. C’mon, let’s go,” he mumbled, closing the pantry.

He would have felt bad about stealing it, except there were birds eyes and what he _thought_ read _kitten hearts_ in that pantry, too, which was horrifying.

“Ew, they had it?”

He held up the baggie full of dried snakeskins. “Yep.”

“Super glad, but also really grossed out.”

“Yep.” Derek nudged her ahead of him, in the hopes they’d get out quicker. 

“Should we like, maybe leave a couple dollars or something? How much would snakeskin be worth?” she asked, looking over her shoulder. “I feel like we just stole something.”

“It’ll be fine. Come on. The faster we get this to Peter, the faster we can test out this cure.”

“Well, okay. Do you think it’ll work?”

What Derek thought was that they were grasping at straws while they searched for the book and/or the sorceress who gave Kate her magic. 

“I don’t know. We just have to keep looking if it doesn’t.” 

Cora sighed. “Magic sucks.”

Derek didn’t reply; it wasn’t like he could argue.

 

Scott had the feathers when they returned. “You found snakeskin?” he asked, looking impressed.

“Yeah,” Cora said, leaning around Derek’s arm. “At a sorcerer’s house. He had a bunch of weird stuff.” 

Boyd caught a glimpse of Derek’s grimace and lifted his eyebrows. “I’d assume sorcerers would have a lot of weird stuff,” he said, looking back at Cora.

“Yeah, I guess.”

“Peter’s on his way back,” Mikaela said, staring at her phone. “Aunt Tally says my dad’s cooking dinner.”

“Cool. What’s he making?” Isaac asked, leaning away from the counter. 

“Dunno. Mom’s inviting the witch to dinner.”

Cora frowned. “Why?”

“Because she’s alone. Right?” Scott asked, looking around.

“Right,” Mikaela confirmed. “Her family is also sleeping.”

Scott nodded, like this was all right and just. “Exactly. I wouldn’t want to be alone _all the time,_ either.” He cocked his head. “I should go check on the animals. One of the older dogs needs eye drops every four hours.” He laid the three gleaming black feathers on the counter before stepping around the counter and heading into the back rooms.

“Let’s head back,” Mikaela suggested. “By the time we get there, Peter, Erica, and Ms. Trevil should be back.” 

They still had to wait for a few minutes, so Derek left Boyd and Mikaela talking about hockey teams and rounded the building. He kept his distance from the thorns, but he couldn’t help staring at them with dry and burning eyes. 

Not only had his stupidity gotten his family cursed, but now it’d cursed Stiles, too, and, well, the whole town. 

Because he’d fallen for a _hunter._ Because he hadn’t told anyone, because he’d been stupid and sixteen and so damn sure he knew how these things worked.

 _You were only sixteen,_ he thought, his shoulders slumping. _Just sixteen. All teenagers do dumb things._

When he realized what he was thinking, he couldn’t help looking at the thorny building, sighing quietly. 

“I miss you,” he whispered, hopefully low enough that Boyd and Mikaela couldn’t hear. “I’m sorry I let this happen. I’m going to fix it.”

“Der! Peter’s back!” Mikaela called. 

He sighed and rubbed his face. 

Boyd and Erica were sitting on the trunk of Peter’s car, watching, while Maude poured the magicked spring water into the bowl they’d been using. 

Mikaela added the feathers and the snakeskin. 

Peter put a hand on Derek’s back. “Any one of us can give the blood,” he pointed out. “Just let me use mine.”

He shook his head. “It’s alright,” he mumbled, holding his arm out over the bowl.

Peter sighed and used a claw to lay open the flesh of Derek’s wrist; Derek stared straight ahead.

At some point, he’d known how to forcefully stop the instant healing—something important for young werewolves to learn in case they fell at school or something—but as it was a skill rarely needed in Beacon Hills, he couldn’t quite remember how to do it.

Peter had to cut him open twice more before they had enough in the bowl. 

“We should stir it a bit, crush up the ingredients,” Maude said. 

Peter tugged Derek away from the bowl. “Go sit in the car.”

“I’m fine, Peter, stop pushing,” he muttered, shrugging away from him. 

Peter studied his face for a moment, then shook his head. “Yeah, alright.” He went back to Maude and Mikaela.

Peter was the one to pour the gently-steaming mixture over the thorns; Maude said it was steaming because of the magic in it. 

Derek held his breath.

The thorns didn’t go anywhere, and the mixture stopped steaming after a few minutes.

Maude sighed. “Well, that’s a failure then.” She clapped her hands. “What’s next?”

“We have all these books Peter’s collected,” Mikaela said, nudging a pile with her shoe. “They describe some curses and cures. We’ve been looking through them.” 

“Okay. Let’s get reading then.”

They all stayed until Ethan called everyone home for dinner. Derek said he’d walk back, since Peter’s car would be packed. Erica tried to argue, to insist she’d walk with him, but he just shook her off and smiled and waved until they were gone. 

Then he sat on the ground next to Stiles’s jeep, leaning his back against the tire. 

What was he going to _do?_ What _could_ he do? There were only so many books to read and houses to search. Once they ran out of those, what then? 

Certainly Kate had gotten her magic from someone in Beacon Hills. There weren’t any other magical towns near enough for her to have gone to so quickly all those years ago. 

And surely that person was still in Beacon Hills, with the spell book she’d used. Sorceresses and witches rarely ever left Beacon Hills. It had something to do with their magic not being quite as strong outside of the town.

Derek ran his fingers over the gravel he was sitting in and surprised himself by smiling. He remembered Lydia insisting they get it paved as soon as financially possible.

Stiles liked the gravel, or he had, until he’d tripped and skinned his palms, grinding little rocks into the cuts. After that, he’d agreed wholeheartedly with Lydia about paving it.

Derek leaned his head back against the jeep, sighing quietly. He wished he was the one knocked out. He was useless, especially at curse breaking, apparently. It would be better if Stiles were the one awake, working on the curse.

Stiles would know where to look, or he would have ideas of where to start, or…he’d just be so much better out here.

Derek stayed there, watching the thorns, as the sun set.

It wasn’t long before someone came to find him.

Erica’s boots crunched over the gravel loudly against the silence Derek had been stewing in.

She ran her hands over the back of her jeans before sitting down beside him. “I can’t wait until it gets a little warmer. Dominick gets weird about us in the cold, huh?”

“He was born human,” Derek replied. “His instinct is to wrap us all up in multiple layers when it’s cold out. We used to argue with him about it, but it’s not like we’re impervious to the cold, so it’s easier and more comfortable to just let him bundle us up.”

Erica nodded thoughtfully. “Yeah, I get that.” She wiped her nose with the sleeve of her jacket. “We missed you at dinner.”

“Sorry. I just didn’t feel like…dealing with a crowd.”

She studied the side of his face for a moment. “Were you really feeling overwhelmed or were you staying here to stew in guilt and self-loathing?”

Derek felt his face burn with embarrassment. He didn’t answer.

Erica elbowed him lightly. “Thought so. Feeling guilty isn’t helping anything.” She patted her legs. “Look, I know I’m supposed to tell you that it isn’t your fault and that there wasn’t anything you could do, but you know that, really.”

“Okay…” He frowned at her, confused and wary.

“So what I am going to say is admittedly shitty, but Stiles needs our help right now.” She sighed and looked at him directly. “Button it up, Hale. We’ve got work to do. You can deal with this later, after we save Stiles and, well, and the rest of the town.”

Derek let out a sharp, surprised laugh. “Thanks, I guess.”

She leaned her head on his shoulder. “We’ll all be here for you, but we need your help now. I mean it. Get it together.”

He leaned his head on top of hers. “I will. Thank you.” 

They were sitting there when Deputy Parrish pulled up in his cruiser, his headlights making their eyes water.

“Hey. Do you guys need a ride?” he asked as he got out. “Talia sent me to check on you.”

Derek sighed quietly. As much as he did not want to get in the car for a long, awkward ride with Deputy Parrish, there was no sense in worrying the pack by taking even longer to return.

Erica stood up. “Sure, we’ll take a ride.” She held both her hands out to Derek. “I call shotgun.”

“Fine with me,” he muttered. He let her pull him to his feet.

“Okay. Great.” Deputy Parrish hesitated, then asked, “Are you okay, Derek?”

“I’m fine.” He brushed gravel from his pants and followed Erica because he was awkward and uncomfortable. 

“So, Jordan,” Erica asked in a tone that had klaxons blaring in Derek’s head, accompanied by flashing red lights. “What happened with you and Stiles?”

“No, Erica,” Derek blurted, alarmed. 

“Uh…”

“We know you guys dated,” she said, ignoring Derek. “Stiles didn’t say why you broke up, though.”

“ _No_ , Erica,” Derek repeated.

Deputy Parrish’s jaw stiffened, shoulders straightening. “If Stiles didn’t say, he probably doesn’t want you to know, so I don’t think I should talk about it.”

Derek saw gold glimmering around the outer edges of Erica’s irises. “Erica, stop,” he said fiercely. “We’ll ask Stiles when he wakes up. When we wake him up.”

She flicked a glance at him. “Yeah?”

“Yes.”

“Okay. Let’s go home then.”

Parrish looked relieved. “Okay.”

Erica, ignoring the tension she’d caused, talked the whole ride about what they’d found, searching witch, sorceress, and sorcerers’ houses that day.

Ethan pushed a plate of leftovers at Derek when he walked in, insisting he eat.

Lucy squealed his name and sat beside him at the table while he ate, chattering at him about her day.

“And Mom _threw up_ when Emily put ketchup on her fries, so now we have to not eat ketchup around her. Dad says she just got sick because of the smell. She used to like ketchup,” she added, frowning thoughtfully. 

“When your mom was going to have you, the smell of meat made her sick,” Derek replied between bites. “She had to leave the house every time Uncle Ethan started to cook.”

Of course, Derek had only been seven at the time, and had the vaguest memories of Laini, Talia, and Laura going out to eat quite a bit after Laini had told the pack she was pregnant.

“Wow. What did she _eat?_ ” Lucy demanded. 

“A lot of salad, my darling. A lot of salad and fruit.” Laini kissed Lucy’s head and rested her chin there, smiling at Derek. “Hey there.”

“Hi, Aunt Laini. Are you feeling better?”

She grimaced slightly. “Yeah, but now the smell of tomatoes in any form makes me feel like I’m dying.”

Laini frowned. “Why?”

Laini tugged her ear. “Because they stink.”

“I think they smell good.”

While Laini was rolling her eyes out of Lucy’s view and explaining that sometimes people didn’t like the same things, Derek finished his dinner and slipped away to put his plate in the dishwasher.

Laura was waiting for him in the kitchen. 

When she opened her mouth, he said, “If you ask if I’m okay, I’ll throw this plate at you.”

“I was going to ask if you wanted to watch _The Princess and the Frog_ with us in my room. Tiana is Casey’s favorite new princess aside from Moana, and we just want to be together.”

“Who is we?” he asked warily.

“Just me, Simon, Cora, and Casey.” She smiled. “Casey just wants to sleep in my room, I think.”

Derek sighed quietly. “Okay, yeah.”

 

Laura’s bed was only a queen, but they piled on anyway, limbs tangling and banging into each other. Casey wiggled around until she could rest her head against Derek’s shoulder. He smiled and leaned his cheek against her hair, the fruity scent of her shampoo tickling his nose from so close.

By the time Tiana was a frog, Erica, Boyd, Isaac, and Mikaela had crept into the room, piling together on the blankets and pillows Laura had tossed on the floor earlier in an effort to create more space on the bed.

Derek, surrounded by the warmth and smell of pack, and so tired, was helpless to resist when he slid right into sleep.

“Derek, help me! Please, you have to help me!” _Stiles called in the distance._

 __“I will. I will, I’m coming. But you have to stop running.” _He couldn’t catch up. He could only see a glimpse of Stiles running from him. He chased, desperate to help him._

 __“Derek! Please!”

“Just stop running! I’m coming!” _He ran faster, legs pumping harder but never bringing him closer to the glimpse of Stiles he could see; until suddenly there he was, on his knees, throat exposed._

_Kate had a hand buried in his hair, pulling his head back, straining his throat._

_Derek stumbled to a stop._ “Wha—don’t, don’t hurt him, just take me-” _he stammered._

 __“Um, nah.” _Kate shrugged._ “You should have protected him better.” _The knife flashed as she drew it across Stiles’s throat, blood instantly gushing down his front._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah, Derek. Sweet, sweet Derek.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's chapter 12!! Yay! :D 
> 
> I'm writing another fic right now, since this one is done! It's fun!

Stiles didn't want to stare, but he couldn’t seem to stop himself from glancing to his right every few seconds, pressing his thumb against his aching fingers to ground himself. 

Claudia was seated at the far end of the couch, respecting his space, waiting for him to speak.

He didn't really know what to say. “If…” he trailed off, caught up in her quick smile.

She looked exactly as she had before the illness had eaten away at her. It was surprising to Stiles just how familiar she looked, as if his memories had just needed a quick shock to clear and focus. 

“If I’m not dead,” he began at last, “then why am I here? With you?” He pressed his left hand down against his knee to keep from fidgeting.

She sighed. “I’m sure you know. You aren’t dead,” she said firmly. “The only people here that are dead are Kate and me.”

“And where is here, exactly?”

She lifted a hand and waggled it back and forth. “A between place, I think. Most people just pass through before moving on. I’ve been alone with Kate for months.”

Stiles lifted his head. “Why’re you still here then? Why didn’t you move on?”

Claudia shook her head. “Time is sort of…fluid here. I waited because I knew you’d be coming and would need help.” A relieved smile crossed her face. “I’m just glad you didn’t die to get here.”

Stiles nodded. “Okay, right, and if I’m _not dead_ , how did I get here?”

She studied his face for a second. “We should go to your office.” She stood up abruptly.

“What?” He tilted his head back to look up at her face. “Why?”

“You’ll want to go to the office,” she said carefully. “You’ll remember there.”

Stiles shook his head a little. “What about Kate?” he asked, wary.

She snorted. “Kate knows some tricks, but I’ve been dead longer. She’ll be by the flower shop, still trying to get here.”

“Why does it take her so long?” he asked, finally standing up. It was something of a surprise to realize he was quite a few inches taller than her. The last time he’d seen her, she’d been taller than him.

Of course she had; he’d been a child then.

“This place…traveling around is hard for Kate. I don’t really know why, but going from place to place is slow work for her. She can move around just fine, but getting here, then getting to the office? That could take her hours.”

“Weird.” Stiles privately wondered if it was some sort of punishment for the way she died, but he didn’t want to bombard Claudia with questions.

“Let’s go.”

Stiles snuck more glances as they walked.

His face had, after losing the boyish roundness, become more like hers as he’d grown. Seeing the resemblance, he wondered how his father could handle looking at him, actually.

“You look like me,” Claudia commented with a small smile directed at the sidewalk. She’d been sneaking glances, too. “That makes me happy.”

An answering smile flickered over Stiles’s face. “Me, too.” He rubbed the back of his hand over his cheek. “I’m sorry if I’m being weird. I just…I feel like this is a dream and once I relax and enjoy it, I’m going to wake up.”

Claudia nodded. “I know. I’m not really sure how all of this works.” She sighed quietly. “I’m just happy to see you.”

“I’m happy to see you, too.” That, at least, was very true. He couldn’t quite express himself properly, but it would always be true.

They stopped outside of Stiles’s office. Well, Stiles stopped; Claudia only stopped when she noticed that Stiles had.

“Are you alright?” she asked.

He nodded, swallowing. “I know I woke up here, but…I’m weirdly scared to go back inside. Isn’t that dumb?”

“No, not really.” She held her hand out. “Come on. We’ll go in together.”

Stiles took her hand, letting out a little sigh when their palms pressed together. It certainly _felt_ real.

They walked inside together. 

As soon as the door slapped shut behind them, the memories washed over Stiles: Sleeping badly, nightmares, Lydia requesting pastries as a cure for her headache, Carly asking if he was going to eat all of them himself, only half joking, cutting his fingers on the scissors, Lydia collapsing, then him-

“That psycho went _Maleficent_ on me!” Stiles blurted, jerking back in surprise. 

“She…what?” Claudia looked puzzled, her hand still half-outstretched from where Stiles had been holding it.

“A—she—I think she might have used _Sleeping Beauty_ as the inspiration for my curse.” He looked down at his hand, where his fingers had been aching. “I cut my fingers, and the whole town and I fell asleep.”

“Ah. So the scissors were your spindle?”

Stiles looked up sharply. “How’d you know about the scissors?”

She smiled. “I can peek through the veil sometimes, to check on my boys.”

“Oh.” He looked away, his chest filling with warmth that he tried to stamp down. “I’m glad.” He glanced over his shoulder. “What now?” he asked finally. 

“Well, now that you remember, I think that’s up to you. What do you want to do next?”

“I’d like to wake up, so—break the curse?” He scowled. “I don’t know how to find the answers here.” He paced across the office. “We have the curse records here,” he said, resigned. “I could check those.”

“The records are here? Not at the library?” Claudia asked, surprised.

Stiles smiled, a quick flash of pride lighting him up. “They used to be there, but Lydia and I requested them when we opened the office, and they gave them to us—as long as people could still use them freely.”

“You guys are doing well.”

Stiles let out a relieved sigh when he saw the shelves Derek had installed, all lined with the records books. “Thanks. We’re trying,” he said over his shoulder. “It’s fun work.” He grabbed a book that might’ve been blue—T8, it said, which was in the blue collection.

“Oh, Stiles-” Claudia began, but Stiles had already opened the book. 

The pages were blank, every one of them.

“What…”

“It takes a lot of work to move stuff through the veil. Look.” She gestured at the shelf.

The book Stiles had (thought he’d) picked up was still on the shelf; he looked at the one in his hands. It felt real, solid. He dropped it and it banged against the tiles like a real book.

“I can pick them up for you,” Claudia offered.

Stiles shook his head, defeated. “Don’t bother. None of these books will have the answer anyway. We need the book Kate used to curse us.” The book he’d dropped at his feet was gone when he glanced down. He furrowed his brows. Of course it was. It hadn’t really existed in the first place. 

“Okay. Do you know where to start? I can help find sorcerers houses that we can search.”

Stiles nodded. “I just need a way to find the book or the sorceress who it belongs to.” He left the records room, pulling his hands through his hair. “I don’t know where to start. There are so many sorceresses in town, and I’m not even completely sure what the book looks like. And how, if I do find it, do I get it to someone who can help? Peter, Mikaela, any of the Hales...they could be anywhere in town. And I obviously can’t move stuff.”

“I could move it, when we find it,” Claudia offered immediately.

“But how do we figure out where to move it to?” he grumbled, pacing past the desk.

“I could look through, maybe in places you think they are.”

“Yeah. The book or the sorceress or some kind of hint, anything. All we have to go on is that the sorceress had no problem with Kate cursing the Hales, but she killed her when she cursed me. We didn’t look into it much because we had other stuff going on and it didn’t seem all that important, because my curse hadn’t activated yet. We had no clue what the symptoms were—I still don’t know all of them. What kind of-” he cut himself off, clearing his throat. “Sorry,” he muttered. “I get caught up.”

Claudia smiled. “That’s okay. I used to get like that, too, when I was looking for someone.”

Stiles frowned, confused, before abruptly remembering that the reason his mother had been in that particular bar the night she and John met was because she’d been a bounty hunter—er, bail enforcement agent—looking for someone who’d skipped bail.

He tried to fight it, but a pleased warmth spread through his chest and belly at the comment. He had something more than looks in common with his mother, something substantial.

“Well, we have nothing but time. We don’t sleep. Well, you’re already sleeping, so why would you sleep here? And I’m dead. The dead don’t sleep.” She put her hands in her pockets. “We can look all over town.”

“Let’s get started, then.”

They exited the building side by side, with a sense of purpose, a task, that gave them new energy. 

Kate was waiting for them. 

She threw one hand out and flung Claudia through the window of a neighboring building with a horrific crash and shattering glass.

“Mom!” He managed one step before Kate tackled him, her nails gouging his cheek as his head bounced against the sidewalk painfully. “Get off!” 

They grappled and rolled on the gravel under them; Stiles only managed to roll on top because Kate’s hand slipped. He scrambled away, rubbing his head. 

Kate shot back up, lashing out with her fist and clipping his shoulder. 

He knocked her hand away. “What is your problem?” he spat. “You’re already dead. It’s not like _I_ made you make the contract with the sorceress.”

“You’re my problem! If you’d have just stayed away, I wouldn’t have even gone back to that stupid, crappy little town.” She grabbed his shirt and dragged him forward, his knees scrapping painfully through the gravel. “This shouldn’t have happened.”

“You’re right, it shouldn’t have.” He grabbed her shirt in return and pulled her in, then shoved her back. Before she could get her balance, he kicked her shoulder, knocking her flat on her back, and climbed on top her. He locked one hand around her wrist and pressed the palm flat against the gravel. He grabbed the pinky of her other hand and pulled it back far enough that she flinched.

“It shouldn’t have happened, because the Hales didn't do _anything_ to warrant you doing that to them, and you sure as shit shouldn’t have been messing around with Derek, you sick fuck.” 

She bared her teeth. “You’ll have to let your guard down eventually,” she hissed. “Your curse is _never_ going to break and you’ll be stuck here forever, with me. And I will tear you _apart._ ”

“My curse _will_ break,” he insisted, wrenching her finger back and making her yelp loudly. 

“You don’t have the cure,” she taunted. “You’ll never have it. Mommy isn’t the only one who can peek through the veil.” She twisted her hand free and flicked her fingers.

Stiles yelled as the skin of his shoulders ripped in strips, blood running down his arms in thick rivults. 

Panting in pain, he snarled at her and jerked her pinky all the way back, breaking it with a sickening little snap.

Such a small thing, but she screamed and writhed against his hold.

Claudia grabbed Stiles’s shoulders from behind, pulled him off Kate, and in that same movement they were kneeling on the sidewalk in a residential area.

Stiles blinked, disoriented. 

“Are you okay?” she asked, cupping her hands over his wounded shoulders.

He hissed in pain, then sighed in relief as cool numbness spread from the point of contact.

“Yeah, I’m okay. That won’t show up in the real—the living world, will it? On my body?”

“Probably not. Maybe bruises.” She sat back on her heels. “Did you break her finger?” she asked in obvious delight.

Stiles snorted. “Yeah, I did.”

“Nice. It won’t last long here, but still—very nice.” Her face fell then. “I’m sorry. I should have been able to protect you.”

“It doesn’t matter, does it? It’s not like my body is here. She can’t kill me…can she?” he asked hesitantly.

Claudia grimaced. “I’m not sure. Let’s not test it, okay?”

“Sure. That hurt like a-” he choked off when he caught sight of Claudia’s sharply raised brows. “It hurt a lot,” he conceded. 

“That’s what I thought. They’re gone now and we’re here…far away from Kate.” She gestured at the houses lined up on either side of the street. “A sorceress used to live down this street when I was alive.”

Stiles looked around. His gaze came to rest at a blue painted house three down from them. “She still does. Her name is Ethel Lestat. Lydia and I were just here in November.”

“Let’s go look around then.” She helped him to his feet.

The inside of Ethel’s house smelled like incense and dead flowers, and was decorated with framed pictures of tropical fish, which was sort of odd.

Ethel herself was in the kitchen, stirring a pot on the stovetop.

Stiles stole a furtive glance into the pot, expecting something poisonous, bubbling, or at least purple.

“Mac and cheese isn’t usually deadly,” Claudia said dryly.

He laughed a little, embarrassed. “Yeah, okay, I guess sorceresses have to eat, too.”

“What should I be looking for? A leather bound? Does it have words on it?”

Stiles grimaced. “I’ve, ah, never actually seen it. When she cursed Derek, she had it, but when she cursed _me_ , I guess she already had the curse memorized.”

“That’s helpful. Well, no use standing around.” Claudia crossed the kitchen to the living room, where there were bookshelves lining the walls. 

Stiles followed her example and started looking at all of the books. Most of them were non-fiction books about tropical fish. Ethel apparently had a hobby and she didn’t stop at the pictures. Who knew so many people wrote so many books about fish?

There were some spell books mixed in, but none of them had any faery tale based curses, when Claudia checked them. 

Stiles sighed, annoyed, and stalked to the coffee table. One of the books on the table was an address book, according to the neat lettering on the cover. The other looked vaguely familiar.

Stiles leaned in. The cover was worn brown leather and faded, open slightly around the pen she’d left inside it.

The cover had something written across it, but Stiles was having a little trouble deciphering the writing.

“Hey…Mom?” That still felt awkward on his lips. “Does this say _Sorcery_?”

Claudia left the books she’d been rifling through to lean over his shoulder. “Yes.” She flipped the cover open. “It’s her journal—ah, Book of Shadows. She writes down her magical accomplishments throughout the day, any experiments she does, potions she tries. She has another one from her younger years on that shelf. She called that one _The Sorceress._ ” She snorted. 

Stiles frowned. That really sounded familiar. “Can you get it?”

“Sure.”

The book she carried over, black leather with _The Sorceress_ stamped across the front, brought the memory forward at last. Stiles gasped, jerking to his feet. 

“What? What’s wrong?”

“I—there was—the Hales—” He stopped and held his hands out, taking a deep breath. “When I was trying to break Derek’s curse, I read a lot of the books they had in their library, so I pretty much forgot about the ones that didn’t help—there was one called _The Enchantress_ that was just like this one—handwritten and journal-like, and I didn’t read much of it because the woman who wrote it was really derogatory about werewolves, which wasn’t helpful.”

“But this book isn’t the one?”

“No.” Stiles covered his face. “No, the book I read is—was—in the Hale library. She was a local and she was _horrible_ so I stopped reading it and forgot all about it but I bet she’s the one, or at least related to the one who gave Kate her magic.” He scrubbed his face. “It was in their library the whole time.”

“Okay,” Claudia said firmly. She dropped the journal and marched to the kitchen.

“What’re you doing?” Stiles followed her warily.

“Getting some paper.”

“It doesn’t matter. The book is in the Hale house, which isn’t here, for some reason.”

Claudia began hunting through drawers until she found a notepad and a pen. “Yes, that’s why I need paper. If we can figure out where at least some of the Hales are, then we can leave a note for them. You wanted to do something,” she added. “This way it gives them a clue. Unless you think they’ll find it on their own.”

Stiles shook his head frantically. “Even after the fire destroyed part of the library, there are a ton of books, and even I wouldn’t have thought to start there for _this_ curse. I already searched most of them for Derek’s curse. But that was before we knew Kate would be…punished…for cursing a human.” He bounced on his toes. “If they can find the sorceress, they can find the cure.”

“Right.” Claudia’s brows creased as she painstakingly wrote on the paper. 

The ink seemed especially vibrant as she wrote; Stiles couldn’t figure out why for a second, until he realized that she was writing it in the living world, where things were apparently brighter in general.

“Now we just have to find someone,” she said, breathless. 

“Preferably Peter or Mikaela. They work with Lydia and me and might get the hint faster.”

The finished note simply read _The Enchantress_ in handwriting just enough like Stiles’s own that Peter would probably know it was him trying to send a message. 

“Okay. Then let’s go look for Peter Hale, I guess.” She frowned thoughtfully. “He was twenty-four, wasn’t he? When I…”

“He’s twenty-seven now,” Stiles said helpfully.

“Twenty…how?” she asked, shaking her head. 

“That’s an effect of the curse,” Stiles muttered. “Derek was stuck in his half-shifted form while his family was asleep and sort of frozen. They haven’t aged in eight years.” 

Claudia nodded, her brows pinched. “Alright then.” 

Stiles nodded and clapped his hands. “Okay, they might be around my office, which is where Kate is. Or maybe by the flower shop,” he said with sudden inspiration. “If they’re trying to break my curse, they could be at the flower shop.”

“I’m sorry, but we’ll have to walk,” she said, grimacing. “I’ll have to save my energy to drag this note through.”

“That’s okay. I don’t mind the walk. Like you said—we’ve got the time.”

“Yeah.” She sighed softly. “So tell me about Derek,” she said, stepping lightly down Ethel’s porch stairs.

“Well…he’s great, you know, a little shy and nervous. Mostly I blame that on Kate.”

Claudia frowned. “Why?”

Stiles was hesitant, but, really, who would she tell? So he told her what he knew about Kate and Derek, starting with the Argent family checking on the Hales when Derek was sixteen. 

“She was twenty-six,” Stiles added, infuriated all over again. “And she really fucked with him and it’s not _fair_.” He grimaced. “Sorry.”

“I understand. I’m—I get your anger,” she said, spacing each word carefully. “And I _almost_ can’t wait until Kate catches up with us again because-” she cut herself off and took a long, deep breath.

Stiles sighed. “He’s really a great guy, and I just love him. His family is awesome and a little terrifying but they mean well and Derek loves them. He’s just…” He shrugged. “He’s just Derek.” 

Claudia smiled. “How did you fall in love?” she asked.

Stiles laughed awkwardly. “Funny, that is also sort of Kate’s fault, but I like to think it would have happened curse or not.”

Unlike Kate, when Claudia found out that Stiles had fallen in love despite the half-wolf face Derek had been sporting, she thought it was sweet. 

“Kate’s not very smart, is she?” she mused.

“Derek’s curse lasted eight years,” Stiles pointed out dryly. 

“Yes, but faery tales usually end happy—even the old ones. Curses get broken in faery tales, so why base them on those?”

“Maybe she didn’t think or understand how someone in the real world could fall in love despite physical appearance,” Stiles suggested. “She seems kind of shallow to me, so it makes sense.”

“Well, if you’re Sleeping Beauty, where’s the catch? If all you need is true love’s kiss…” She patted his shoulder, but Stiles had gone very, very cold.

“Then I could be stuck here for a very long time,” he murmured.

Claudia frowned at him. “Why do you think that? Derek should be back from New York eventually.”

Stiles shook his head. “Never mind. We need them to find that book so they can find the cure. It’ll be something harder than true love’s kiss, I bet. Something with flowers or crystals or…something.” He hoped. 

Because even if “true love’s kiss” could include platonic love, John was sleeping like him, and so was Melissa, and Scott was—possibly also sleeping, if he was affected by the curse through his connection to Stiles, and really, who else loved Stiles? And if it was the romantic type of true love’s kiss, then he really was screwed. Derek wasn’t there yet, and he probably wouldn’t leap there at the sight of Stiles sprawled like a corpse on his office floor. 

If there wasn’t a cure Peter could pour over him, he might actually be stuck, just like Kate said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed this! Next chapter on Thursday as usual!


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi hi! I've got a beta for my next project and it's fun and I can't wait to start posting after this one is done!! :D

Peter wasn’t a _thief_. He fully intended to pay for all of the things he’d taken from the various stores around town. He was keeping a full record of everything he’d taken, and was going to pay it back when there weren’t more pressing issues to deal with. 

He didn’t think of it as stealing so much as simply taking the flowers on credit from Heather’s shop, noting down each one.

Not that he thought himself morally above theft; he just liked to think if ever he would risk Talia’s wrath, it would be for something worthwhile, such as a famous painting or sculpture. Or jewels.

His point was petty theft or shoplifting was below his scope and not worth the lecture from his siblings or their spouses.

He smirked, remembering that Ethan had incurred Laini’s wrath that morning by putting tomatoes in the omelets. 

With his arms full of flowers, he almost didn’t see the paper on the sidewalk. As it was, he caught a glimpse of it fluttering in the breeze, pinned by something he couldn’t see.

Frowning, he bent, shifting all of the plants to one arm so he could hold the paper still.

He gasped, jerking to his feet with it in his hand. “Yes! Yes, yes, I _knew_ you’d find a way!” He dropped the flowers and pulled out his phone, dialing as he jogged for his car.

 

Derek looked up sharply when Peter’s car skidded into the parking lot, spitting gravel.

Mikaela looked wary, a book clutched in her hands. 

Peter jumped out. “Is it here?” he demanded, almost breathless. 

“Yes, we found it in the pile we haven’t gotten to. Peter, what-” 

He shoved a piece of paper into Derek’s hands and grabbed the book he’d shouted at them to find when he’d called just minutes ago.

The paper itself was unremarkable; the handwriting, however, looked enough like Stiles’s hasty scrawl that Derek couldn’t help looking at the building where he was sleeping, as if he would find him standing in the door smirking at them. 

“Where’d you get this?” he croaked, smoothing his thumb over the two words.

_The Enchantress_

“It was on the sidewalk as I was leaving the flower shop.”

Peter was only _barely_ paying attention, his eyes flicking rapidly back and forth as he read. 

“What if it’s just…something else?” Derek asked. 

“No, no, it was Stiles. He must have figured something out while we were being Good Samaritans.” Peter flipped the pages and let out a shout of triumph. “This book—it’s a journal, it has to have been written by the sorceress we’re looking for, or someone related to her. Beacon Hills, 1958, Hester Murik. Hester Murik!” he repeated, beaming at them. 

Mikaela jumped. “We have a name?” she asked, as if coming out of a trance. 

“We have _something_. We have to find Hester Murik.” He was already calling Talia to let her know what they’d found.

Derek looked at the note again. The handwriting was extremely similar to Stiles’s, but the letters seemed to have sharper points than Stiles’s ever did, each one ending exactly where it should end. More confident and concise than his usual.

Or Derek was overanalyzing messy scrawl because he was afraid to hope. 

“Oh, god, not Deputy Boy Scout,” Peter groaned.

Deputy Parrish parked next to Peter’s car and got out, looking wary. “Talia said you guys needed my help.”

“Yes, quick, a masked man stole my purse, he ran that way,” Peter said with a straight face, pointing to the left.

Parrish’s face tightened. “Look, I’m just trying to help-” he began, his cheeks flushing angrily. 

“But you aren’t any help,” Peter said pleasantly, and that was just too far.

“Stop it,” Derek sighed. “Dep—Jordan, we need to get an address.”

If anything, Deputy Parrish looked angrier at this. “Oh, and I suppose someone with access to a police database wouldn’t be any help with that.” 

Peter scoffed.

Derek said, “I can go with you,” before Peter could say anything to piss him off enough to not help them.

Deputy Parrish continued to stare at Peter for a long moment before apparently deciding his cold-eyed cop stare wasn’t having an effect on him. “Okay,” he said at last. “Come on.”

It wasn’t until they were in the cruiser, alone, in awkward silence, that Derek realized he’d volunteered for this.

Peter texted him the second they were out of the parking lot.

‘ _Good job distracting him. We’re going to do some B &E while you keep him busy._’

Derek’s gaze flicked guiltily to Parrish. He hadn’t meant to _distract_ him while Peter did something _technically_ illegal, but now that he knew about it, it felt like he was purposely deceiving Deputy Parrish.

“If Peter’s breaking into houses, you don’t have to hide it from me. I figured he would,” Parrish said dryly.

Derek tried not to flinch. “Yeah, he…I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to…”

“I know. You looked guilty.” He shook his head. “Whatever. Everyone else was already doing that.” He drummed his fingers against the steering wheel as he drove. “Is he always like that?” he finally demanded. 

“Peter’s moral compass is slightly off-center compared to the rest of ours,” Derek replied immediately, having expected the question. “He gets impatient when people prioritize things he doesn’t deem worthy.”

“Like the law?” Parrish asked dryly.

Derek shrugged and nodded sheepishly. “In this case, anyway.”

“Ah. I guess Stiles is lucky to have so many people that care about him.”

“He’s lucky Peter prioritized him and his curse, you mean.”

Parrish shrugged, though his face was still set and irritated. “Peter isn’t the only one who cares, is my point, so he should take help where he can get it.” 

Derek laughed, trying to stop himself when Parrish glanced at him. “Sorry. But…Peter.” He lifted his hands.

“Yeah, okay.” He smirked, too. “That was stupid.”

The sheriff’s department was full of slumped over, uniformed people. 

Derek felt bad leaving them there, but he didn’t want to linger while Parrish wound his way through to his desk, so he followed him. 

“I’m not sure if she’ll be in the system, but Sheriff Stilinski started keeping a record of the sorcerers and sorceresses a year or so ago, so she might be in that.”

“Okay,” Derek said, for lack of anything better to say. “Her name is Hester Murik,” he added awkwardly.

“Right. Thanks.”

Derek nodded and stepped away, pulling the piece of paper back out of his pocket. It was silly, but he wished he could smell Stiles on it. He couldn’t even get to Stiles’s apartment, and there were so many other people in his house that his scent had been lost in the mix.

Peter texted while he was moping. ‘ _We have everyone checking s &ss houses for address books. Keep Deputy Do-Good busy. Going to try city hall or post office next._’

Derek glanced at Parrish anxiously. No way would he be okay with them going through all the things at the post office. Especially not without his supervision. _Especially_ not with Peter there.

“If she’s not in there, where else can we check?” he asked impulsively. 

Parrish looked up. “Well, I guess we’d look in houses, like we’ve been doing. If she lives in Beacon Hills, surely someone knows her, and might have her address in their house somewhere. Searching online might work, but somehow I doubt an old, powerful sorceress is going to be found by Googling her name.” 

Derek nodded. “I’m going to try anyway, just to get it over with.”

Parrish nodded. “Sure.” 

There was only so much Derek could do from his phone, but it mostly told him what he needed to know: the only Hester Muriks to pop up were well outside of Beacon Hills and gave no indication of ever having lived there.

“What did Peter say?” Parrish asked casually.

“Oh, uh. Just that they were going to search address books, like you said?”

“Really? That’s all?” he asked, turning to look at Derek.

He must have learned from Sheriff Stilinski to pin a person in place like that.

“Possibly public records at the library?” Derek suggested innocently. “Maybe City Hall?”

Parrish scoffed. “Sure.” He grimaced when he looked back at the computer. “No Murik, Hester or otherwise.” He sighed and leaned back. “There’s an older sorcerer that lives nearby. We can check his house for an address book.”

“Sure!” 

He squinted at Derek suspiciously, but didn’t call him on his uncharacteristic enthusiasm.

 

Inias Knotley was maybe 87, but, like most of the magical people in town, he was aging slowly and looked in good health when they found him sleeping at the kitchen table. There were ink smears all over his fingers and on his face where he’d fallen on the paper. 

“You check the kitchen. I’m going to see if he has an office,” Parrish said.

Derek waited until he left the room to check Mr. Knotley’s pockets until he found his phone. As far as he could tell, people were keeping addresses in their phones more often than in actual address books anymore. 

His mother had even started updating their contacts and addresses, too. After the fire, they were worried about losing important documents. 

Mr. Knotley’s phone wasn’t locked, the battery was mostly dead, and none of the contacts had addresses under the names, none of which were Hester Murik.

He sighed and set it on the table, next to his arm. He looked around the kitchen and spotted a stack of papers on top of the microwave.

Mail. The guy had open mail in every open space, every free drawer, every free cabinet shelf, but nothing with any personal addresses. Bills and ads. All of them. 

One cabinet was filled with potion or spell ingredients, all neatly labeled with clinical block lettering, organized from smallest to largest containers.

Derek shut it in disgust and yanked open another drawer; silverware clattered with the force of it.

“He has an address book next to his computer, but it’s just filled with passwords,” Parrish said as he returned. “Anything?”

“Just his storage of animal parts. I think he uses spells to keep them from decaying,” he said, grimacing. “I can’t smell them, so it must be something.” 

“Ah.” He ran a hand down his face. “There’s another sorceress, um, Lucida Drabek, I think, just around the corner. It can’t hurt to check,” he added, brows raising.

“Okay.” 

Lucida Drabek’s house was cluttered, to put it nicely. To put it more accurately, it looked like a crazy hoarder librarian had nested in her home. Books were stacked waist high or, in one memorable case, to the ceiling.

Lucida was collapsed on the rug in the living room. At the sight of her, Derek had to wonder how she’d stacked any of the books as high as she had; she was very short. Her maroon curls were spilled over the beige rug like blood, a tea cup smashed beside her. It was all very artful. 

Parrish observed her for a long moment, one brow arched. “Like a scene right out of a movie,” he said casually.

Derek frowned at him. “Yeah, I guess. Should we start looking? There’s a lot of books here.”

“Right. Let’s start by the door, work our way in.” He kept looking at Lucida though, frowning thoughtfully.

“Coming?” Derek prompted, annoyed.

“Yes.” He marched ahead of him, grabbing a stack and glancing through the first one. “So, uh…”

Derek looked up from the armful of books he’d grabbed. “Yeah?”

“Stiles never told you why we broke up?” he asked, not really looking up.

Derek’s shoulders stiffened. “Not really. I never asked and he never told me. It’s not really my business.”

“Oh. Right.” Parrish nodded and went back to his books.

Derek sighed in relief and glanced at his own books. Most of them seemed to be in Latin, though one looked a bit different than the others. No addresses, for sure.

He moved to the rest of the stack, mostly skimming the titles.

“See, I’m going to keep feeling like I have to tell you if I don’t,” Parrish said.

Derek closed his eyes, clenching his fingers around a book spine. “You shouldn’t. I mean it. That’s between you and Stiles. If he wanted me to know, he’d have told me.”

“I know you think that, but I think it might be my fault that he hasn’t told you.”

Derek finally turned, slowly, and looked at him. “Why do you say that?” he asked cautiously. 

“Well, see, I was an idiot, and Stiles feels ash-” he broke off, narrowing his eyes at something over Derek’s shoulder.

Derek stiffened; the heartbeat in the living room was no longer sleep-steady.

It was quickly approaching him from behind.

He waited until the sound was directly behind him before spinning around, eyes, fangs, and claws flashing, a snarl ripping from his throat. 

Lucida screamed, dropping the vial she’d been holding. 

The resultant bang was thunderous, disproportionate to its size. Smoke billowed out at the same time, throwing Derek back hard enough to topple over several stacks of books.

“Hey! Stop—Don’t run!” Parrish ordered.

Derek struggled dizzily to escape the avalanche of books he’d been buried under while Parrish gave chase. A corner had dug into his cheek, leaving a spatter of blood on the floor.

He ran after the two once he’d gotten his feet under him. Whatever she’d dropped was making his vision weird—his depth perception was shot; he ran into more walls than he managed to avoid.

By the time he made it outside, he was sweating and dizzy, struggling to hold himself up.

Parrish had Lucida handcuffed in the yard and flat on the ground, so Derek turned and got sick in the bush next to him.

“Oh, you ass, that’s a—ugh, stop, uncuff me,” Lucida demanded loudly. 

“No, I will not,” Parrish said, indignant. 

Derek continued emptying his stomach, reduced to his knees. Sweat poured down his face and stuck his shirt to his torso and back.

“It’s the potion, your pal is going to pass out soon,” she said impatiently. “And he’s puking in my roses!” 

Derek vaguely heard the jangle of keys over the sound of his blood rushing in his ears, stomach heaving despite being empty.

An ice cold hand pressed against the back of his neck while another grabbed his hair and yanked his head back.

Fear had him gasping and trying to scramble away, but Lucida pulled on his hair painfully.

“Hold still, idiot.”

A chill slid down his spine, then spread through him, cooling his overheated flesh. 

“And don’t go blaming me for this,” Lucida said, dropping his head and wiping her hands on her jeans in disgust. “Ya’ll broke into my house, remember? I was just defending myself.”

“From what?” Derek gasped, using a shaking hand to wipe his mouth.

“Murderers, for all I knew! You just come traipsing into my home and start looking through my things and talking about-” she flapped her hand at Deputy Parrish- “his love life while I’m just lying there.”

“So, were you ever affected by the curse?” Parrish demanded. “Or was that all an act?”

Lucida smiled, slow and easy. “Well, now, a girl’s got to have some secrets, sugarbutt.” 

Parrish looked vaguely insulted. 

“How’d you hide your heartbeat?” Derek croaked. His throat felt raw. “It sounded like you were asleep.” 

“A mild Juliet potion,” Lucida boasted. “Now tell me why you were in my house.” 

“We’re looking for an address, for a sorceress named Hester Murik,” Parrish replied.

Derek squinted at her, but Lucida just frowned.

“I’ve never met her. I mean, I’m sure I’ve heard the name somewhere before, but I have no idea who she is.” She shrugged. “Why? Oh.” She smirked again. “No. Did she cast _this_ curse? What an ass. Rude.”

Derek glanced at Parrish, brows raised.

“What?” she demanded. “We’re into cursing people but come on. This is like medieval crap. Cursing the entire _town_? That’s just boring.” She yawned pointedly. “So, what, ya’ll were looking for an address book or something? Among spell books?”

“You have a lot of books.”

“Keepin’ all my options open, darlin’.” She winked.

“We’re leaving now,” Parrish said, helping Derek to his feet.

He swayed dangerously. “What’d you do to me?” he demanded.

She shrugged. “You got two doses when you blocked Deputy Drama over there. You’ll be fine,” she added, rolling her eyes.

“Come on,” Parrish mumbled, pulling Derek’s arm over his shoulders.

“Hey,” Lucida called before they could get anywhere. “What gave it away?” She cocked her head. 

“You were the only one we’ve found that looked remotely comfortable. Too staged,” Parrish said.

“I see. The cup was overdoing it, then?”

“A little.”

She hummed and nodded, watching them leave.

Parrish slid Derek into the passenger seat before getting into the driver’s side. “Feeling better?” he asked.

“A bit. The cold air helps.” He swallowed and grimaced at the taste. “Gross. I need to brush my teeth.”

“I can drive you home so you can do that, and wash up if you want.” He glanced at Derek. “Thanks for that.”

“For what? The spell or potion or whatever?” Derek shook his head. “You’re welcome, but honestly I didn’t even know she had it.”

Parrish—Derek guessed since he’d seen him puking his guts up, he could call him Jordan—glanced at him and snorted. “Well, thanks either way.”

“Thank you for your help, too.” He used his shirt to wipe his face, disgusted. He’d rarely ever gotten sick like that in his life, so when it happened, he was basically useless.

His phone went off, but he ignored it. “What was she asking about while we were leaving?”

Jordan shrugged. “I noticed that something was off, so I was kind of waiting for her to get up. She was too staged, the position, the tea cup—it just all looked like a scene from a movie.”

“Ah.”

Laini was at the house sipping 7-Up at the table while the younger kids napped. 

“Jeeze, you look as bad as I did,” she said, pushing one of her 7-Ups across the table at him. “What happened, kiddo? You okay?”

“Uh—yeah. I just need to go get changed and, um, cleaned up.”

“Alright. Just don’t wake them. Even Cora and Mikaela are napping.” She shrugged. “They’ve been helping out and exhausted themselves.”

Jordan shuffled his feet; Derek had known he was getting uncomfortable, so he turned slightly, enough to open the conversation to him. 

“Jordan helped me out, and he’s going to wait for me, so he can give me a ride to…wherever Peter is.”

At the mention of Peter, Jordan’s face went pinched. “The library, right?” he asked sarcastically.

“Um, yes. I’m gonna go shower,” Derek mumbled, and fled. 

He showered quickly, trying to get rid of the shaky, sweaty feeling all over his skin. He brushed his teeth in the shower, too, so he could get it all done at once. 

His phone was ringing when he got out, so he dried his hands and face quickly before answering it. “Yeah?”

“Where have you been?” Peter demanded, annoyed.

“Puking,” he snapped. “What’s going on?”

Peter was quiet for a moment. “We’re going to the post office. Do you want to meet us here before we go in?”

“Yes. Let me get dressed.” 

There was another pause. “What happened?” he asked. His voice had taken on an odd silken quality.

“Jordan-” Peter growled, making Derek roll his eyes- “and I got attacked by a sorceress, and whatever she hit me with made me sick. She fixed it before we left,” he added. “We were checking if she had an address.”

“Hmm. Come meet us at the post office. Bring the deputy,” Peter added pleasantly before he hung up.

Derek frowned at the phone for a second before setting it down to pull on his clean clothes. 

“Why are we meeting Peter at the post office?” Jordan asked as they were leaving.

“Uh. That’s just where he said to meet him.” Derek gave the task of buckling his seatbelt much more attention than it needed. 

Jordan shook his head. “You’re terrible at lying.”

Derek shrugged, but didn’t try to defend himself.

“Whatever.”

Peter and Mikaela were waiting outside of the post office; Mikaela was texting someone and frowning while Peter paced like an agitated lion.

As soon as they were parked, he pounced. “What happened?” he barked.

Derek sighed. “I told you, we were caught off guard by a sorceress who was still awake.”

“Why were you the only one who got attacked? How do you know _that_ wasn’t the sorceress we were looking for?”

“Because she was about twenty-nine and was as irritated as the rest of us about the curse,” Jordan said. “What is your problem?” he asked, stepping up onto the curb beside Derek.

“My problem is that Derek was the only one who got sick, Deputy, even though you were both there, and _Derek_ is the one who looks like a corpse-”

“Peter,” Derek cut in. “I stepped in the way on accident. She was aiming for-”

“Are you suggesting I _purposely_ let Derek get attacked?” Jordan demanded.

“You came away from the encounter without a scratch. What am I supposed to think?”

By that point, they were inches from each other, all but literally snapping at each other’s throats.

Mikaela and Derek made eye contact and silently moved between the two of them; Derek pressed his shoulder into Peter’s chest until he stepped back a little.

“You guys need to stop. You’re just wasting time,” he said. 

“ _He’s_ wasting our time,” Peter spat.

“No, _this_ is wasting our time, Uncle Peter. We could’ve already found the address by now if we’d been _looking,_ ” Mikaela said pointedly.

“Plus, you’re overreacting. I’m fine.” He frowned at Peter; it was weird for him to fight anyone’s battles for them.

He was supportive, sure, but rarely quite so defensive.

“Fine.” Peter stalked away. “Let’s go then.”

“Go where?” Jordan asked sharply. He seemed to understand when Peter kept walking, because he started running. “Oh, no, you’re _not_ searching through the post office,” he yelled, slapping his hand against the door when Peter started to open it.

The move must have caught him off guard, because the door handle came out of Peter’s grasp and slammed shut.

“Why not?” he demanded. “Because _you_ say not to? I’m trying to get this curse lifted and it seems like all you want to do is slow us down.”

Jordan’s face flushed with rage. “I am trying to keep everything together here. There are still laws and there are still cameras that can record you illegally going through other people’s mail. As much as I-”

“Move,” Peter snarled. “Or I will move you.”

“Peter!”

“Do it,” Jordan said. “Because I’m not moving. There are other options.”

Peter lifted a hand.

Mikaela’s phone rang. “It’s Laura!” she yelled. “Don’t start fighting,” she ordered, and answered the call.

Derek could hear Laura on the other end, shushing Simon and Boyd so she could talk.

“Look, tell everyone to get home. We found Hester Murik’s address. She lives on Forest Retreat Road, out in the preserve.”

Derek’s heart leapt; he couldn’t help looking at Peter excitedly, gratified to see the wild triumph reflected back at him.

“She found it!” Mikaela cheered. “Let’s go, come on, Laura found it! We have to go now,” she said sternly. “Start acting like adults,” she added to Peter and Jordan. 

Derek rode with Peter while Mikaela went with Jordan, mostly to make sure he joined them rather than stepping back due to Peter’s attitude.

“What’s up with you?” he asked once they were well on their way home. 

“Nothing,” Peter muttered. 

Derek snorted. “Right, nothing. You know he’s a friend, right? He has been helping.”

“He’s been slowing us down,” he said dismissively. 

“We couldn’t leave people outside to freeze.”

“And why not?” he snapped. “They left us to our curse for eight years, so I don’t see why I should waste time helping them. They wouldn’t do the same, and you know it. You know who helped us? Stiles. So that’s who I’m worried about helping.”

“So? Being a decent person doesn’t cost anything.”

“It costs _time_. We could have found that book earlier if we hadn’t spent days cleaning up animals and people. Stiles could already be back to normal by now if we’d been working.”

Guilt sunk into Derek’s lungs like a knife. “I should help more,” he said. “I’m sorry. I can do more-”

“That’s not what I meant,” he muttered. He shook his head. “It doesn’t matter,” he said firmly. “We’ve got an address now, and we can get what we need from the sorceress.” 

Derek nodded. “Why don’t you just ignore him?” he asked. “You don’t _have_ to be involved in whatever he’s doing.”

Peter remained silent the rest of the way home.

Derek didn’t know what to think about that.

Mikaela and Jordan had beat them home.

“That isn’t fair!” Cora yelled as they approached the house. “I want to come!”

“Tough. You’re staying here.” Talia’s voice didn’t raise.

Derek grimaced at Peter as they walked into the foyer, which was where they were arguing, for some reason.

“Why?” Cora demanded. Her face was red and her eyes gleaming, just on the edge of angry crying. “Because you think I’m a baby?”

“Because you are twelve-years-old, this could be dangerous, and it is not a trip to the zoo. We’re not taking the entire pack there to gawk at her.”

When it looked like she might argue more, Talia pointed. “Room. Now.”

She stomped away.

“So…who all is coming?” Maude asked, stepping out of the dining room where she’d been waiting.

Talia sighed. “Myself, my husband, Peter, Derek, and Jordan. And you, if you’ll join us. It could be beneficial to have a witch there, especially considering how she talks about us in…this.” She held up _The Enchantress_ , which Mikaela must have given to her.

“Yes, I’d like to come.” Maude frowned at the book.

Laura, who’d overheard, was scowling when everyone gathered in the dining room. “So, I find the address but I’m not invited?”

“That’s right,” Talia said coolly. “But I do need some people by Stiles’s office, that way when we do find the cure, we can get started right away. You’re welcome to do that if you can behave like an adult.”

Laura’s face flushed. “Okay,” she mumbled.

“Good.” Talia looked up to address the room. “Simon, Mikaela, Erica, and Boyd can go with Laura to Stiles’s office if they want. I need someone to go check in on Scott and Isaac, update them, and someone else to stay here, obviously, with Cora, Emily, Casey, and Lucy.”

“Okay.” Ethan grinned at Laini. “I volunteer. You can go visit the boys.”

“Yes!” Laini fist pumped. “Fresh air! The car to myself! Music _I chose!_ ” 

Laura laughed.

“Well,” Peter said, “let’s go. What’s the address?”

Talia waved a piece of paper. “18 Forest Retreat Road. The far side of the preserve.”

“I’ll drive,” Jordan said. “That way she doesn’t panic.”

“We won’t all fit in your cruiser,” Talia said. “But we’ll follow behind you.”

“Alright.”

Derek and Maude followed Jordan to the cruiser; unfortunately, so did Peter, which left Talia and Dominick in her car. Derek gave Peter a hard side eye, but he just smiled innocently and claimed the seat behind Jordan.

Derek sat behind Maude. He could only hope Peter wouldn’t distract Jordan while he was driving and get them all killed.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hoo boy, everyone is going to ~hate me~. Um. At some point. Probably. Maybe.

“They’re going to find her,” Claudia said. “They found her address and they’re on their way to her house!”

“Yes!” Stiles couldn’t help jumping up and throwing his arms around her neck, dancing in place. 

She laughed in his ear and hugged him back.

“Who was going? Peter? I bet Peter found it.”

“Peter and a witch and _Derek_ and a deputy I don’t recognize,” she relayed breathlessly. 

“A witc—Derek? Derek’s there?” he squeaked. “That doesn’t make-”

“Well, wouldn’t the Hales have called him and Talia back when the curse hit?” she suggested. “It makes sense. They’d need all the help they could get.”

“Okay, that explains _them_. Where did the witch come from? Or the deputy?” He rubbed his eyes and stepped away from her. “The deputy is probably Jordan. That explains why I haven’t seen him anywhere.”

“There were way more Hales, though. I saw one say she was going to check on Scott.”

Stiles’s head shot up. “Scott’s here? He’s _awake?_ ” 

“I guess. If he is, where would he be?”

Stiles frowned. “The vet’s office, probably.”

Claudia’s eyes lit with amusement. “Well, that just makes perfect sense.”

Stiles smiled. “Yeah, he’s still great with animals.”

“Oh, I bet he is.” She held her hand out. “I should be able to get us to the clinic.”

“Are you sure? We could just walk.”

“Yes, I’m sure. I’ll just need to rest a little when we get there.”

“Okay.” Stiles cautiously took her hand.

Between one heartbeat and the next, they were at the vet’s clinic. Stiles didn’t see Dr. Deaton anywhere in the lobby, which was a little surprising.

“He’s probably in his office,” Claudia said from the waiting area. She sat down and leaned back, looking especially faded.

“I’m going to look.”

“I’ll be right here.”

Stiles wasn’t sure what he was looking for; Deaton could just as easily have been at home or getting groceries.

He grimaced. Possibly he was just trying to put distance between himself and Claudia.

Despite remembering the curse and knowing that this was (probably) really happening, Stiles couldn’t help remembering that once he woke up, he wouldn’t be able to see her any more. His curse would be broken, but she would still be dead.

Getting close to her, getting used to having her around, was just going to end up badly for him. He couldn’t risk getting attached.

_But she’s here now_ , his treacherous heart seemed to wheedle.

“Stiles?” she called.

His eyes closed. He remembered hearing that, when he’d wandered too far away at the store or the park. “I’m fine,” he replied, rubbing the heel of his hand against his chest. 

He pushed open the door of Deaton’s office and found him there at his desk, writing notes or doing a crossword, Stiles couldn’t tell.

He backed away. It didn’t really matter; he’d just keep doing it, no matter how long Stiles stood there.

“I can look through,” Claudia announced when he returned to the waiting room. “To check on Scott for you.”

“Could you?” he asked, relieved.

She smiled. “Sure.” 

Watching Claudia look through the veil was a little weird. Obviously there wasn’t anything physical for her to do, so it was mostly just watching her meditate. 

She’d breathe deeply for a half a minute with her eyes closed, before opening them just a little flutter at a time. They were always milky blue when she was looking through. It was unsettling.

Stiles crossed his arms and leaned back against the desk, tapping his fingers against his bicep anxiously.

She smiled as she looked, like she saw something that made her happy. She blinked and her eyes slowly returned to their original brown. “Scott’s with another boy—man, sorry, I meant man, I forget my boys are all grown up—and a redhead. There are a _lot_ of animals, too.”

“The other guy—curly hair, sweet face, tall?” Stiles asked.

She beamed. “Yes.”

“Laini Hale and Isaac Lahey, then. Or most likely. Were they okay?”

She nodded. “The redhead—Mrs. Hale—was telling them about the sorceress and what was going on. Scott looked excited.”

“I’m glad they’re okay.” Stiles let out a relieved breath and let his arms drop to his sides. “I guess they aren’t really in danger, but I always worry…” 

“That you’re going to come home one day and find them on the floor?” she asked sadly.

“Sorry,” he muttered, dropping his gaze.

“Why? You didn’t do anything. I’m sorry, too,” she added with a sigh. “I wish I’d at least been lucid enough not to…” She stopped. “Well, you know.”

“Yeah.”

“We should go back to your office.” She looked surprised as she said it. 

“Why? Kate’s there.”

“We can walk. I just think…I think maybe we should be by your body for the curse breaking.”

Stiles frowned. “Or we could go watch Derek and Peter look for the sorceress. Or maybe we can even help.”

She shook her head. “I think we should be at your office when they get the cure.”

“They still have to find her first,” he mumbled. “And _get it_ from her. It’s not like she’s going to just hand it over.” 

“So we’ll walk.” She looked over her shoulder. “That’ll give Kate time to get impatient and start looking for us, too.”

“Why? Do I have to be close to wake up? That’s weird.”

She shook her head. “It’s not that…exactly. I don’t know how to explain it. I told you, time is odd here. There’s a reason you need to be by your body, or at least by your office when they try to break the curse.” She smiled at him hopefully. “We can practice while we walk.”

Stiles sighed. “Okay.” He waved, defeated, at the door. “Lead on.”

Claudia had been teaching Stiles how to move things like she and Kate could while everyone in the living world did the legwork. He wasn’t very good at it, but he liked to think it was because he wasn’t actually dead and not for lack of concentration.

“Here, look.” Claudia pulled a can out of a recycle bin and dropped it in front of him. “Let’s use this.”

Stiles must have made a face, because she laughed. 

“When you can move that like it’s as light as it is, we can find something more difficult.”

He sighed. “Alright.” He frowned at the (Pepsi) can and blew out a slow, even breath. “Why doesn’t Kate have to think this hard?”

“She _is_ dead,” Claudia said patiently. “And she’s had months to practice. Months of _non-stop_ practice,” she added. “The woman is dedicated, I’ll give her that.”

Stiles’s mouth twisted, but he tried to shake off his irritation and _focus_.

The can was only three feet away from him; it should have been _easy._

“Try using your hands,” Claudia suggested, and demonstrated by waving her hand.

The can rolled another foot away. 

Stiles glared at it and lifted his hands. He tried to mimic the careless, easy way Claudia had waved, but, when nothing happened, he flapped his hand in frustration. 

The can shot up in the air, then crashed back to the sidewalk. 

“Ha! Progress!”

“Yes,” Claudia said, smiling. “Try again.”

“Can’t I bask in my success before I fail again?” he whined. 

“No, what if you’re on a streak? Try again,” she repeated firmly.

Stiles flicked his hand at the can again; this time, it rolled a couple inches. “I’m not even sure if that was me or just momentum from the fall.”

Claudia laughed and waved for him to do it again.

Stiles stared at the can, skimming over the Pepsi symbol, the dent from it being crushed, the faded blue coloring. He flicked his wrist again, keeping his eyes on the dent.

It shot fifteen feet away, clattering off the sidewalk at the crosswalk.

“Yes!” He swung around to grin at Claudia, who smiled back.

“Good! Okay, something heavier.” She looked around and jogged to a nearby yard while Stiles waited on the sidewalk, proud of himself.

She returned with a soccer ball. “Okay, this should work.”

“Will the weight even make a difference?” he asked skeptically. 

“Why don’t you try it and see?” Her smile looked a little smug.

Stiles eyed her suspiciously before he looked at the ball. He sort of missed the days when Kate was just a terrible memory they were working through. 

He flung his hand out in what he thought was a super-impressive move.

If only the ball felt the same way; it rolled over once, moving all of two inches away. 

Claudia stifled a laugh. “Just try again,” she said, still snickering quietly. 

Stiles rolled his shoulders. Giving his full attention to any one thing was difficult on his best day, and in a stressful situation, nearly impossible. He breathed deeply, trying to clear his mind, or at least empty out some space. 

This time, the ball rolled a yard away when he tried. He dug his teeth into his bottom lip as he tried again, holding his hand out flat in front of himself and pushing as if he were actually able to touch the ball. 

The ball flew across the street and bounced off a light post.

Stiles managed a smile before his vision jerked and wavered. “Whoa.” He threw out a hand as he stumbled, balancing himself against the building on his left. 

“You okay?” Claudia asked.

“Yeah. I think I need to sit down for a minute,” he mumbled, blinking rapidly.

Claudia took his arm and helped him down so he wouldn’t collapse. “I didn’t think of that. You overexerted yourself. I thought since you were still alive, your energy would be stronger than ours.” She grimaced apologetically. 

Stiles leaned his head back and closed his eyes. “I guess not.”

“It’s just like a muscle,” she said soothingly. “You have to work your way up with practice.” 

“Right.”

They sat side by side quietly for a few minutes, before the silence got to him.

He opened his eyes, then closed them again when it seemed the world was still spinning like a carnival ride. “I’m sorry,” he whispered.

He could _feel_ Claudia staring at him.

“For what?” 

“For not being…for not really…”

She set her hand on his arm. “We both know that once your curse is broken, you won’t see me again for what is hopefully a long time. I don’t blame you for protecting yourself, Stiles.”

He sighed and let his head roll so he could face her, opening his eyes. “Yeah, but if I wasn’t so worried about losing you again, I could’ve just been enjoying this—this extra time we have.” 

She elbowed him lightly. “I’ve enjoyed it. We’ve been busy but we’ve been together. That’s more than I thought I’d get.”

“We could talk more,” he offered. “I don’t think I can walk yet.”

“Sure. Tell me how Scott’s doing.”

Stiles smiled. “He’s almost finished with school. Once he is, he’s going to work with Dr. Deaton at his clinic.” 

Claudia hummed. “The animals still like him.”

“Yeah, they still adore him,” Stiles snorted, rolling his eyes and smiling. “It’s kind of hilarious because he apparently has the same effect on werewolves. The Hales _adore_ Scott.”

“Scott’s a likeable guy,” she said dryly. 

“I know that,” he said defensively. “It’s just funny to me, to watch them all gravitate toward him without realizing it.”

“Aside from charming woodland creatures and your boyfriend’s family, how’s he doing?” 

“Good, I think. Happy. He was dating a girl for a while but he stopped talking about her a month later, and I didn’t want to ask, since he didn’t seem too torn up about it.” He grinned. “He and Isaac kissed last month,” he snickered. “They got horribly awkward about it until we made them talk it out.”

Claudia frowned. “Why were they awkward about it?”

“Huh? Oh, you mean—well, I guess they just weren’t really into it.” He laughed a little. “Scott described it as the kiss version of a shrug. But they still want to be friends, and they were worried they’d messed it up. There was a bout of hilarious awkwardness all around.”

She nodded thoughtfully. “What about Lydia?” she asked. “I seem to remember you having an enormous, vocal crush on her.” She smiled at him.

“Oh, heh. Yeah. I mean, I still think she’s a goddess and a genius, but I realized, first of all, that I didn’t even really know her, and that being creepy wasn’t really getting me anywhere.” He shrugged. “Then we became friends and it turns out we’re better at that than at anything else. She and Jackson will probably get married, so obviously her taste in men is skewed anyway.” He smiled. “She’s a good friend to have. I’m glad I figured that out,” he laughed.

Claudia smiled. “What about your dad?” she asked worriedly. “How is he doing?”

“He’s good. Happy, I think. He seems happy.”

“Has he been dating or going out at all? Or has he been holing up at home? I know for a year or so there he wasn’t really…”

Stiles nodded. “Yeah, no. He hasn’t really dated _much_. Just a couple dates every few years. He never brought any of them home, and I never met any of them.” He picked at his jeans “Peter was flirting with him,” he laughed. “But I think Peter just flirts with everyone, so…” He shrugged. 

“Right.” She let her head fall back, looking up at the clear, gray-tinted sky. She looked sad. “I wish—well, obviously I wish I’d had longer with both of you, but I also just wish you both so much happiness. That’s all I want. For you two to be happy.”

Stiles nodded eagerly. “We are, usually. Dad—he really enjoys hanging out with the Hales. I guess he likes that it feels like we’ve got a big family.”

She closed her eyes. “We wanted one. I’m glad you’re both happy. That’s good.” She cleared her throat. “Are you feeling better? Maybe we should start walking again.” 

“Yeah, I’m good now.” He got up and brushed the back of his pants off out of habit. He was pretty sure he couldn’t collect dirt here, and even if he did, it wouldn’t really matter. “So, more practice?”

She snorted. “No. You’re doing fine now. We’ll practice more when we get to your office.”

“Spoilsport,” he sighed. “What if I tried _really hard_ not to swoon again?”

“Still no.” She waved her hand and sent both the ball and the can whizzing out of sight. 

“Nice,” he said enviously. “Alright, if you think I should rest,” he mumbled.

“I do.”

He sighed again. “Okay.”

They talked a little more on the walk, mostly about the couple of years Stiles spent at college before deciding he wanted to be home, and about the people he’d met.

“It just never felt—settled, I guess. To me. You know? Everything felt so temporary,” he said. He put his hands in his pockets. “This—well, not being cursed—but everything I’ve been doing has felt more solid. I like it.”

“You’re doing well. Being happy with yourself and what you do is important.” 

As they drew closer to the office, Stiles became more uneasy. “Do you think Kate’s left?”

Claudia’s frown wasn’t encouraging. “I would think so, but if not, you just go inside. I’ll handle her.”

Stiles frowned back. “But if we took her on together, we might actually buy us more time.”

“I don’t want you to get hurt.” She shook her head. “Please, just do what I said.”

She’d told him the same thing when he was seven, in the same tone of voice. A furious man had come to their house, shouting and storming around their yard, waving his arms; Claudia had told Stiles to go inside, she didn’t want him to get hurt, and to do what she said.

So naturally he’d run inside and climbed up on top of a chair so he could watch through the window.

Claudia had been something of a badass in her day. 

When talking to the man hadn’t worked and he’d rushed her, she’d trounced him like a prize fighter before coming into the house to call John at the station. 

Stiles had found out later that the man was the brother of a woman she’d taken in for skipping bail. 

“Okay,” he said finally. “I’ll just go inside, then.”

“Thank you.”

Kate was still in the parking lot of the office. She wasn’t even trying to leave, just standing in the gravel with her hands in the pockets of her jeans. She smirked. “I figured you’d have to come back eventually. You’re not the only one who knows things, spook.”

Claudia shot a hand out, shoving Stiles toward the office. “Go.”

When Kate lurched after him, Claudia threw her back with the flick of her wrist. 

“I tried to just let you do your thing,” she said, advancing on her. “I _tried_ to forgive you for what you did to my son, for what you did to an innocent family, a teenage boy, but you know what? You’re just not worth it.”

Stiles backed away when Claudia shot him a warning look, but he stopped just short of going inside. 

Watching from the window was fine, but he didn't want to miss the opportunity to witness Kate getting her ass kicked in person.

He had to memorize every detail so he could relay them to the Hales later; he was sure they’d enjoy it.

Claudia moved with quick, effective ease, using her telekinetic ghost powers as much as she used her fists. It wasn’t long before Kate’s mouth and nose were bleeding; she skipped back and managed to avoid Claudia’s right fist only to catch her left to the cheek. 

Stiles felt himself twitching toward the fight unconsciously, the urge to help almost overriding logic. 

As many fists that were flying, there were twice as many telekinetic flings, rocks flying through the air, wood pieces shooting forward like javelins, and Stiles was in no way qualified to offer help there. 

Claudia swatted a sharp stick out of the air like a cat batting at a toy and stalked toward Kate, furious. 

Kate let out a shriek and threw both of her hands out—Claudia was thrown to the ground, skidding along the gravel.

Claudia was good, but Kate had the advantage of being an angry, entitled rage ghost on her side, so, while they seemed evenly matched, Kate was starting to gain ground.

Claudia kicked Kate’s legs out from under her while she was still on the ground, straddling her and pinning her arm behind her back. She wrenched it up until Kate cried out.

“Mom-” Stiles warned when he saw Kate’s free hand flex on the ground, but it was too late.

Gravel flew off the ground and pelted Claudia’s face, making her flinch back reflexively as the rocks dug into her face.

Kate shot to her feet and landed a powerful right hook across Claudia’s face that sent her stumbling. 

Stiles ran to help, stupidly. 

Kate laughed and waved her hand; Stiles sailed through the air quite gracefully, save for the alarmed yelp. 

He crashed through the front window; broken glass rained over him while he screamed—a large piece of glass had pierced his right thigh. Blood gushed around it, drawing most of his attention until he noticed the deep gashes along his limbs.

Another piece of glass was stuck behind his shoulder, and another was lodged in his cheek. High, helpless whines came trembling from his throat. He wasn’t sure which piece to try to take out; he was afraid to move at all because everything hurt, and everything seemed to be bleeding.

A shadow fell across the glass glittering around him. Kate grinned.

“Hurts, doesn’t it?” She lifted her hand and squeezed all her fingers together.

Stiles screamed as the glass in his thigh twisted and dug deeper.

“Don’t look for Mommy. I threw her pretty hard.” She twisted again, making him scream more. “Now imagine feeling your skin burn _off!_ ”

“You—you—” he had to gulp in air, sputter past the blood and tears running into his mouth. “You tried to burn the Hales _alive_.”

She scoffed and twisted the glass in his shoulder until he screamed again, grinding it against bone. “They’re _animals_. I’m a person. They don’t—”

The glass stopped moving as Kate pitched forward, her eyes rolling up before she hit the ground.

Claudia grabbed her ankle and dragged her away from the office, dropping the stone she’d used to hit her over the head with. She had blood running from under her hair to her cheek and smeared over her mouth and the skin under her nose. 

Stiles continued gasping and trembling and generally being useless. He couldn’t make himself reach for any of the glass—any movement, even breathing, even the shaking, hurt. He wanted to gag, from pain or the blood, he couldn’t be sure, but was afraid that would jostle something.

Claudia returned. She had wiped at the blood on her face, trying to clear it away, but she’d just smeared it. She came in through the door, despite the busted window, and winced when she got a good look at him.

“Like a horror show, huh?” He tried to smile, but it disturbed the glass in his cheek. He settled for deep breathing through his nose.

“Just a little bit. Hold still. I’ll get the glass out.” She swept the stray glass away with a wave of her hand before crouching down in front of him. She started with his cheek, and talked while she did. “This has happened to you before, you know. Not quite so bloody that time. We were visiting a friend in South Dakota when you were about four. It was freezing! You were miserable, John and I felt so bad.” She tugged hard, removing it with a deluge of blood, petting his hair as he gasped. “Our friend, Dawn, she bundled you up in her son’s old stuff.” 

She moved around to get at the piece in his shoulder, prodding at the edges so she could make sure it came out straight. “Being basically Californians, we didn’t really know how to deal with such low temperatures. We were taking you back to the hotel that first day—had you in your car seat, buckled up, and all at once, John’s closing the door and Dawn’s running out of the house yelling _stop!_ but by then the door had already slammed—momentum, you know—and the window just shattered all over you.” The glass in his shoulder came loose with a splitting, burning pain and hot surge of blood down his back. 

He leaned his head against her arm, gasping and squeezing his eyes shut as tears trailed down his cheek.

She moved to his thigh. “Big one now. So you’re just sitting there, still as we’d ever seen you, just covered in glass and blinking like you actually understood the gravity of the situation.” She yanked the shard out and held onto him while he screamed and sobbed. She petted his hair soothingly and rocked him. “Okay, let me try to seal these up.” She ran her hand over the gouge in his leg, then his cheek and arms, finishing up with his shoulder.

Everything still ached, but the all-consuming agony had faded. 

He was still sweating and shaking. “What happened next?” he croaked, to distract himself. 

She smiled, wiping her cheeks. “Well, we got you out and brushed the glass off, cleaned it up. You only got a couple of small cuts, luckily. The people at the rental place weren’t all that surprised when we told them what happened. We’d gotten the insurance, obviously,” she added, tapping his nose.

He nodded, swallowing against the nausea building. “Those aren’t going to show up on my…on me, are they?” he asked, rubbing at his leg where it ached.

“There will probably be bruises, but no blood.” She used her shirt to wipe the blood off his face. “Kate should be unconscious for a few hours at least. Are you okay?”

“Yeah, just a little sore. What about you?”

“I’m fine. She just threw me before I could get to you, so I grabbed reinforcements.” She brushed her hair back absently. “Come on, let’s get away from the glass.” She looked at it oddly. “It’ll go away on its own soon. She didn’t break it on your side, just ours.” 

Stiles got to his feet carefully; his body protested, but he insisted. After all, he wasn’t even injured anymore.

“How long do you think it’ll take them?” he asked, shuffling across the room to the couch and flopping on it. Going through a window wasn’t pleasant, and he wasn’t sure what action movies were getting at, having the hero get up and fight after that. He felt like he’d been put through a blender. 

“Hopefully not long.” She perched on the edge of Peter/Mikaela’s desk. “Remember, though, they have to find her before they ask for the cure.”

“Which, given the fact that she’s a bigot who hates werewolves, might be a dead end,” Stiles muttered.

“They do have that witch with them. And the deputy. Maybe she’ll comply with them,” Claudia suggested.

“Maybe.” He just hoped they did it soon. Before he started wanting to stay here, listening to Claudia tell him stories about when they were all three a family.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The window shattering happened to me as a kid, only I was older. Glass is seriously no fun.


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, full disclosure: I started shipping an uncommon ship while writing this, due to age similarities and such, so if you don't like it when you notice it, I totally get it.
> 
> It's not really a big thing and you won't even really see any of it until the last chapter!
> 
> Well, enjoy this one! Derek has some angst in this chapter because nothing is ever easy for our boys, amiright?

“We’ve already passed these trees,” Peter sang. “You’re getting us lost again.”

“If you don’t shut up-” Jordan started through his teeth.

“You’ll what? Shoot me? Deputy, I am an unarmed civilian breaking no laws.” 

Derek met Maude’s gaze in the side mirror; her expression of irritated boredom mimicked his own.

“If you would be quiet, I might be able to navigate!”

“If you knew how to drive, we might already be there!” Peter mocked.

“I am getting out and walking if you two don’t stop!” Maude shouted.

“Seconded!” Derek snapped. He took a deep breath. “Dad just texted me. Mom caught the scent of magic—a lot of magic—coming from the east, so let’s go that way.”

Peter rolled his eyes and fell back against his seat, crossing his arms like a huffy child.

Jordan gritted his teeth and directed the cruiser along the eastern-leading dirt road.

Maude mouthed ‘thank you!’ at Derek, making him smile.

Peter and Jordan had been arguing the entire ride, which was now reaching its second hour.

Hester Murik had made herself very difficult to find.

Peter was gearing up for another strike when it appeared. 

‘Appeared’ was extremely accurate, too, because Derek was sure the cabin hadn’t been there a second ago and yet there it was, in full view, less than ten yards away.

Jordan slowed to a stop, staring up at it. “How…”

“She must have been hiding it,” Maude said. “Camouflage that keeps it hidden until you get close enough. Clever. Not many people would come this close.” She prodded Jordan’s shoulder. “Pull up some more, give Talia some space to get in.” 

Once he’d parked in the dirt driveway, Maude unbuckled herself.

“You and I are going in first. She’ll be friendlier to us, and if we can get answers without her cursing anyone because she’s a bigoted old bat, then we should.” She smiled back at Derek. “Stay in the car.”

“Yeah,” he muttered. He’d already been cursed once. He had no desire to repeat the performance. 

Peter leaned around the driver’s seat to watch them go, his muscles coiling tighter with every step.

When they got within arm’s reach of the porch, Maude grabbed Jordan’s arm, stopping him.

“Wait,” she cautioned. She lifted her hand and mumbled what sounded like nonsense to Derek.

A flash of red light rippled over the cabin.

Within, Derek could hear indistinct muttering and clattering, moving steadily closer until the door swung open.

“What?” the old woman barked. She was wrinkled and grayed, her skin sagging and papery and fragile-looking. She had heaps of necklaces around her skinny neck, glittering rings on every finger. She squinted. “Deputy,” she growled.

Peter made a quiet noise that could have been a laugh or an answering growl, Derek couldn’t tell.

“Ma’am,” Jordan said politely.

“Hester Murik?” Maude demanded. 

“Yes,” she replied icily. “Who’re you? How did you break my wards? You’re just a witch.”

“Yes, but my cousin is a sorceress. I picked up a couple tricks.” She glanced at Jordan. “Just enough to help in emergencies,” she said reassuringly. 

“We wanted to know how to break the curse on the town. We believe it’s one of yours.”

“I haven’t cast any curses,” she grunted. Then she smiled, eyeing Jordan. “Though I wouldn’t be opposed to doing a demonstration,” she said, lifting her hands. 

Derek couldn’t ever be sure who moved first; he and Peter reached Jordan and Maude at the same time, and Talia and Dominick were right behind them. 

“Don’t!” Maude ordered; green light fell over them like a tent, cutting a line in the yard. “Whatever you shoot at us will just fly back at you.”

Hester scoffed. “What curse are you blaming on me?” she snapped. “And why would you think it’s mine?”

“A man was cursed by Kate Argent a few months ago,” Jordan said clearly. “She died when she cursed him. His curse recently activated.”

Hester laughed, leaning against the doorframe. “Well, I told her not to go cursing humans. Too many of you all, you see. We tend to get killed in terrible ways when you lot decide you’re afraid.” 

“So it’s okay to curse _us_?” Dominick demanded. 

Derek cringed. 

Hester turned her head and curled her lip. “You brought these animals to my property?”

“Only to find a way to break the curse,” Talia said, putting a calming hand on Dominick’s arm.

She scowled at them. Then she blew out a noisy breath. “Eh, what do I care? I’m a hundred and eight-years-old. I’m bored.” She waved a hand. “What’s the curse?”

“The man—Stiles—cut his fingers. Most of the town fell asleep when he did, and the building he’s in is covered in thorns that we can’t get through.”

Hester narrowed her eyes. “And how did you know it was one of _my_ curses?”

Talia cleared her throat and lifted _The Enchantress_ so Hester could see it. “You were the only sorceress we’d heard of with an open disgust for my kind,” she said firmly.

“I was wondering where that journal had got to. Grandkids,” she grunted. “Always out to make a profit.” She didn’t look offended by the idea. “Well, bring it up here. I’ll trade you the cure for my property.”

Peter made a protesting noise, but Talia shushed him and started toward the porch.

“No. Not you. Him.” She pointed at Derek. 

He looked at his companions, sure she’d meant someone else. “Why—why me?” he managed.

“You’ve been quiet. I like you, for a shifter. Bring the book up here. We’ll talk.” 

“Here.” Maude took off her necklace and dropped it over Derek’s head; it burned hot against his chest for a second, the tang of magic wafting from it.

He shakily took the book from Talia and stepped away.

“Why can’t I bring it up?” Peter demanded, one hand dropping on Derek’s shoulder. “I haven’t said anything either.”

Hester grinned. “True. But I don’t like you. Send the boy up.”

Boy was an exaggeration; Derek was twenty-four. Then again, everyone must seem young to someone who’d lived a century. 

Peter started to argue, but Derek just shook his head and walked toward her before anyone else could stop him.

Hester threw herself down on a chair wedged in the corner of the porch with the lazy disregard for the furniture of a teenager. She gestured at the chair across the table from her, so Derek sat down.

He kept the book in his lap, but Hester didn’t ask for it. She just sat there, studying him, so Derek figured he’d better do the same. 

It was hard to get past the scent of blood-tinted magic on her, but once he did, he smelled dusty books, hot sauce, and pride. He got the feeling that while she looked like a strong breeze would carry her away like dandelion fluff, she was rather sturdy. Her eyes were clear and focused, dancing with amusement like she didn’t really take him seriously. 

Derek didn’t hold that against her; he could barely take himself seriously these days.

Once she’d looked her fill, she leaned in. “How do you know the Cursed?”

“He—we’re—he’s my boyfriend.” He cursed himself for stammering.

“Sure about that?” She chuckled at his panicked confusion. “You’re in luck, then,” she said smugly.

“How’s that?” He tightened his grip on the book unconsciously, but caught himself before he could crush the binding. 

She laughed again. “Boy, I know reading is a dying sport, but you must have seen the movie?” She smirked at him. “True love’s kiss,” she mocked, snickering. “Hope your boyfriend is a keeper.”

Derek shot a panicked look at his family, his heart hammering. “But—the thorns. How—how do we get past the thorns?”

Her face hardened. “I’ve told you everything you need to know.”

“There—I—” he cleared his throat of the tickling panic. “Isn’t there another way?” he begged. “Flowers? Ashes?” 

“You could cut out his heart. That’d wake the rest of the town.”

Derek recoiled. “I wouldn’t—but there’s _nothing_?”

“He’s your boyfriend,” she said flatly. “You don’t want to kiss him, that’s not my problem.” She snapped her fingers.

Derek’s hands flew open and the book disappeared, then reappeared in her hands.

“I’m not-” He was going to fail everyone, let everyone down, _again._

“Leave,” Hester suggested. “Don’t bother following me,” she added as she shuffled around the table and toward the door. “I’ve got a great dislike of shifters of all kinds. Every entrance to my house is lined with mountain ash.”

The slam of her front door made him flinch and continued to echo in his ears until Dominick’s hand closed around his arm and led him down the steps.

“Okay, so we still have to figure out the thorns, but we can break the curse now,” Talia said. She sounded relieved and optimistic. “We can all try to rip the thorns away at once until Derek can get in. We might pull this off.”

Derek thought he might throw up. “We can’t.”

Everyone seemed to pause.

“Why do you say that?” Dominick asked. He was still holding Derek’s arm, so he started rubbing soothingly at the bend of his elbow with his thumb.

Derek shook his head. “It won’t work. It’s not going to work.”

“Of course it will. There are a _lot_ of us. Surely we can make an opening for you to get in.” Talia smiled encouragingly at him.

“No.” Derek shook his head even more. “No, I—I mean—when I can get in, I…kissing Stiles—I don’t…it’s not going to work.”

“Why do you think that, Derek?” Talia asked gently. “Stiles loves you.”

“But—I—” He looked at the faces around him wildly, disgusted with himself. “I don’t-” He couldn’t get the words out.

Peter stepped around Talia and stared into Derek’s face for a long, uncomfortable moment. “Say it.”

Derek looked at his mother, then his father. “What?”

“If you say to me, explicitly, that you don’t love Stiles, I’ll believe you and we’ll figure something else out.”

“But—I don’t—I _can’t._ ” 

Talia lifted a hand: wait. “What can’t you do?” she asked calmly.

“Love him.”

More confused glances from everyone but Jordan; Jordan was staring hard at the ground, his brows pinched in what could have been anger or judgment or disdain. 

Derek flushed, mortified that two outsiders got to witness this situation.

“Why do you think that?”

“Derek,” Peter said before he could reply. He ignored the irritated look Talia sent him. “Tell us that you don’t love him.”

“Why? What does it matter that I _say_ it?” But he knew. Of course he knew. 

Peter wanted to listen to his heartbeat, try to detect a lie. 

But they were all well aware that that wasn’t an exact science and meant nothing, really.

“Peter, Derek.” Maude set a hand on each of their shoulders. “Does it matter?”

Peter looked at her like she was crazy.

“I mean that this is our only idea. We have to try it. So whether Derek thinks he loves Stiles or not, we’ll have to try, just in case.”

“She’s right.” Talia looked at Derek worriedly. “We’ll just have to go and try it. We still have to get past the thorns, so this is just wasting time.”

“Correct. I suggest we go before Hester gets irritated that we’re still here and decides she wants to punish us.” Maude shooed them back to the vehicles.

Since Derek had no desire to be questioned the whole ride back, he slipped into the backseat of Talia’s car and buckled in.

Peter could ride with Jordan and Maude. She would (probably) keep them from killing each other. 

Talia and Dominick did their silent parent communication thing before they got in the car. Dominick got in the back with Derek, but he didn’t say anything.

Talia let Jordan pull ahead of her so he could lead the way. 

They’d only been driving about five minutes when Talia inhaled to say something.

“No,” Dominick said gently.

She blew out the breath she’d taken. “Then _what?_ ”

Derek closed his eyes.

“We just want to know why you think you can’t love Stiles,” Dominick said in a careful voice. “Because that…” He paused and hummed. That was a habit he’d had since Derek was a child, stopping and humming to think through what he wanted to say just after he’d started. He’d taught them all to consider their words. “If it’s about your feelings—you just don’t feel that way, then, well, there’s nothing to talk about. But the way you said it…”

“Tell us what hurts, baby,” Talia said quietly. “Let us help.” 

There was no way to explain without admitting things he didn’t want to admit.

But, god, he was tired of holding it all in.

“I thought I loved Kate,” he said, quite loudly and clearly. “I really, really did. It _felt_ like I did. So how would I even know whether I love him or not? It doesn’t even—I wouldn’t even recognize the feeling.”

“What did love feel like with Kate?” Talia asked. She _just_ managed not to snarl her name.

Derek grimaced. “At first, like I was getting away with something. And then sort of…” He couldn’t bring the feelings back, coated as they were with years of bitterness, disgust, and shame. “I guess it was exciting and a little—when I was with her it seemed like I was in love,” he finished lamely. “She said I was,” he whispered. He heard how pathetic that sounded and covered his face.

He wasn’t too surprised when Dominick simply pulled him into his arms like a small child; he was surprised to find comfort in it. He pressed his face into his father’s shoulder and took deep, shuddering breaths. 

“What about Stiles?” Dominick asked, pressing a kiss to the back of Derek’s head. 

“Good,” he said quietly. “Just good. I’m only ever afraid of hurting him.” He laughed quietly. “And he gets me to argue about comic book characters, which is…what?” He shook his head. “Just…what.”

“You’re overthinking the definition of love, hon,” Talia said, but very quietly, like she was giving Derek the opportunity to ignore it. 

Dominick was not. “What we mean is that love isn’t supposed to be Shakespearean, Derek. _Romeo and Juliet_ wasn’t a guidebook. It shouldn’t all be suffering and desperation and hiding things. Kate was toxic and you were young. Bad combination.”

Derek closed his eyes again and rested his head on Dominick’s shoulder. 

He didn’t want to admit that _Kate_ never said _she_ was in love with Derek; she’d just encouraged and laughed at _his_ feelings. He squeezed his eyes closed tighter, as if that could blot out the memories.

Derek had reached a sort of dazed calm when they arrived at the office. He stayed in the car when everyone else got out; it sounded like Jordan and Peter were arguing again.

Laura excitedly asked how it’d gone. Derek focused on Peter’s heartbeat at random, to block out Talia’s answer. It was elevated, probably from the argument he was still having with Jordan about—what sounded like—driving like a myopic old man. 

Derek wasn’t given space for long.

Erica climbed into the car on his right, and Boyd on his left, squashing him in the middle.

“What’s the problem?” Erica demanded. She pinched his ribs lightly. “You do love him.”

“Erica,” Boyd began.

“No, he does. He’s just afraid.” For whatever reason, she sounded angry about that. “He’s just keeping it in because he’s scared Stiles will use it like Kate.”

“I’m not-” Derek started, offended.

She drilled her sharp, blood-red fingernail into his chest. “You _are._ You like to tell yourself you’re scared of hurting Stiles and mostly that’s true but you’re holding back to protect yourself and Stiles was going to keep letting you, for as long as you wanted. Well, guess what, Hale?” She jabbed his chest again. “You’re not _my_ boyfriend, or my brother. It’s our job as your friends to tell you how _shitty_ that is. You can’t go into every relationship half-assed because Kate-fucking-Argent screwed you over. It isn’t fair or kind and I’ve always thought of you as both. Now put on your big kid pants and figure out your feelings, because you aren’t protecting anyone—yourself included—by holding back.” With that, she jumped back out of the car and slammed the door with gusto. 

Derek sat there in shock for a few seconds, absorbing her words. When he could, he turned his head to look warily at Boyd. “Are you going to yell at me, too?”

Boyd shook his head. “No, Erica seems to have covered it.” He simply moved closer so his side pressed against Derek’s comfortably. 

Derek let himself sit and relax in the offered company for a while. He watched everyone trying spells and potions and force on the thorns, but they were growing back faster than ever.

He heard Peter say something about swords and turned his head to see him stripping down and shifting to his wolf form. He snorted and took off. Jordan and Maude looked startled.

“Scott and Isaac are coming to help. They said they’ll be here soon.” Boyd sighed. “You know, it doesn’t even matter if we can’t get past the damn thorns.”

Derek nodded. “I think I’m going to take a walk.”

Boyd nodded back, but set his hand on Derek’s arm. “Maybe think about what Erica said. She’s harsh, but you know she’s right.”

“Thanks,” he mumbled.

He didn’t go far; he walked around the side of the building to stare at the thorn covered door. He had the key Stiles had given him in his pocket, attached to his other house keys. Of course he did. This was as much home to him as the pack house was. He came here to feel safe and when he was happy or overwhelmed or just plain tired. 

Silly. It was just an apartment, and a small one at that.

He let his head fall back against the neighboring building, watching the white puff of his breath as he laughed to himself. At himself. It wasn’t the damn apartment he’d been running to and he knew it.

He laughed again, quiet and mirthless. They still couldn’t _get_ to Stiles.

He didn't understand why Hester thought telling him that he had to _kiss_ Stiles was all the information he needed to break the curse. He couldn’t kiss Stiles if he couldn’t reach him.

He shifted his gaze to the thorns; they were deep brown-green, a swampy sort of color, and obviously sharp, twining in long vines that clung to the building so closely he couldn’t even see the bricks.

He’d mostly been avoiding really looking at them or getting too close since the first day. 

Now he studied them from afar. They were just plants- a weed, really. A mixed pack of humans, werewolves, a deputy, and a witch, and they couldn’t get past a plant.

Peter returned, and Derek heard Jordan ask sharply where he’d gotten ‘that’, to which Peter responded tersely, “Italy.”

Derek just listened; whatever Peter had grabbed was big—he could hear it whistling through the air as he hacked away at the thorns. He could also hear quiet swearing, which meant it wasn’t working.

When the noise stopped, Jordan said, “You should put some pants on,” in a strangled sort of voice.

Peter growled with frustration. “Are you going to arrest me, Deputy?”

“He could, so put on your clothes, Peter,” Talia said sharply. 

Peter huffed angrily. 

Isaac and Scott arrived seconds later, bearing—from what Derek could hear—fur and feathers and whatever else Maude had requested for a potion to try on the thorns. 

None of them were going work.

When Erica angrily echoed that thought, Talia exasperatedly asked if anyone else had any ideas, then.

“This is really dangerous,” Scott said cautiously, “and I wouldn’t be able to help because I might actually die but has anyone tried…burning the thorns?”

Peter replied, “We considered it, but it seemed like too big a risk. What if the fire got out of control, or if Lydia and Stiles inhaled too much smoke before we could get in? At this point, though…”

Derek’s heart raced. They couldn’t burn the building. He remained quiet, though, holding his breath. He wasn’t helping, so what right did he have to tell them they couldn’t do something?

“We aren’t setting anything on fire if we can avoid it,” Talia said firmly.

Derek exhaled in relief.

“It’s a good idea, Scott, but I want to exhaust every other possibility first.”

“Every other possibility _has_ been exhausted, Talia!” Peter snapped. “We’re grasping at straws, and there aren’t even that many straws left!”

Derek shook his head. Even fire wasn’t going to work. Force wasn’t going to work. Hester said Derek had everything he needed. Maybe he did. 

He approached the door to Stiles’s apartment carefully, like he was afraid the thorns would lash out at him.

They didn’t; they seemed as impervious to his presence as they were to everyone else’s. 

He got close enough to touch them, but hesitated. He wanted to wake Stiles, truly wanted to _save_ him, but some part of him wanted to flee, probably the same part that felt at fault for this whole thing in the first place. 

He squared his shoulders and reached for the thorn-covered door handle, claws extending automatically in anticipation of pain. 

It didn’t come; the thorns curled away from his hand like paper from a flame. His hand closed around the knob unopposed. 

He found himself standing there, panting like he’d run a marathon, staring at the cleared thorns. He lifted his hand and trailed it along the seam of the door, watching in amazement as the thorns curled away wherever he went.

“Peter!” he yelled, running for the front of the building.


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys, your comments make me super happy. I just want you to know that.

Stiles swung his legs anxiously. He felt a little better—still sore—but he didn't want to get up. The window still hadn’t fixed itself; glass was still glittering on the floor.

Claudia was watching through the veil to see how the curse-breaking was coming along. “Everyone but Derek seems to be right out front,” she murmured. “They’re trying to figure out how to get inside.” 

Stiles frowned. “The door isn’t locked. We were open when I cut my fingers.” 

Claudia shook her head. “There’s something blocking the door. Vines?” Her hand twitched. “No, thorns. Oh, wow.” She blinked, her gaze returning to their plane and coming to rest on Stiles. “There are a bunch of thorns covering the entire office. They can’t figure out how to get past them.”

“Did they try cutting them?” he asked dryly.

“A naked man was cutting at them with a sword, but I don’t think it was working.”

“A naked…man.” 

“I think it was Peter, but I couldn’t tell.” Her eyes slipped out of focus and turned blue again. “I’m going to look for Derek. They’re talking like he’s around.”

Stiles covered his face. “He might be. God. I bet he’s wallowing and that he’s been blaming himself for this the whole time.”

“Why do you think that?”

He snorted. “Because feeling guilty is about ten percent of Derek’s personality.” 

“Looks like you’re right. He’s standing at the side of the building. Not doing anything but looking sad and staring at the side of the building.” She sighed and took a step back, blinking hard. “Ooh, I have to take a break.” She sat down on the couch beside Stiles, who was no longer sprawled over the whole thing. She tilted her head back and closed her eyes. “Sorry. Moving around out there is hard when I’m only looking.”

“Why didn’t they find out how to get past the thorns when they were talking to the sorceress?” he wondered.

“Maybe she wouldn’t tell them. They seem pretty sure they can break the curse once they get inside, so maybe she thought that was enough and didn’t tell them any more.”

Stiles scoffed and rolled his eyes. “Wouldn’t _that_ just be typical? Sorcery is a pain in the ass,” he complained.

Claudia patted his knee. “And it also keeps you in business.”

He grumbled, “Well _someone_ had to do something,” and settled back, only pouting a little.

“Sorcery is annoying but it keeps you in frozen pizza and _Star Wars_ t-shirts,” she teased, plucking his shirt.

“Yeah, yeah.” He smiled though. Maybe things wouldn’t be so bad if they couldn’t manage to break the curse. He had his mom here. Technically his dad was around, too.

And it wasn’t like he’d _never_ see Scott or Derek or anyone again. Werewolves weren’t immortal, and it wasn’t like Derek would never find someone else.

An icy jolt of shock went through him when he realized the implications of that thought. He wasn’t just going to stay here and wait for everyone he loved to _die._ He didn’t want Derek to fall for anyone else; he still hadn’t even fallen for _Stiles_. He hadn’t had a chance yet.

God, and how selfish was he, to hope they wouldn’t break the curse just so he could stay with Claudia? Melissa was sleeping, too.

Would he take away Scott’s mom for the chance to stay with his own?

“I wondered,” Claudia said lightly.

“Wondered what?” His voice was rough with self-disgust. 

She turned to smile at him. “How long it would take to talk yourself into and then out of wanting to stay here.” She looked sad.

“Mom…I-I want to stay with you. But…”

“But _I_ don’t want _you_ to stay,” she said firmly.

He looked at her in surprise. “You don’t?”

“No.” She thumbed his cheek affectionately. “You have a lot of life left, kiddo. A _full_ one, if the people currently trying _so hard_ to help you are any indication. It’d be a waste for you to stay here.”

“But won’t you miss me?” he asked in a small voice. 

She wrapped her arms around him and squeezed him tight. “Every day, baby. I will continue to miss you _every day._ But I want you to go back to the living world until it’s the _right_ time.” She pinched his cheek teasingly. “And you better be old and gray when that happens.”

He laughed wetly. “I’ll try.” He sat back and wiped his cheeks.

“Good.” She stretched her arms above her head. “Okay. Let me see how they’re doing. Maybe we can help.” She blinked slowly and started her deep breathing. Her eyes were out of focus and blue when she opened them again.

Stiles rubbed his palms nervously against his jeans mostly out of habit; the effect was just that his hands got messier. 

When Claudia had closed the wounds, the tears in his clothes had gone away, but the bloodstains had remained. He stood and started pacing.

Claudia smiled. “They figured it out,” she said dazedly. 

Kate leaped through the still-busted window and slammed her palms into Stiles’s chest, knocking him back into Claudia. 

As they collapsed to the floor, Kate got her hands around his throat, squeezing until her fingernails broke skin.

Claudia, moving slowly, gripped Stiles’s shoulders and pulled. She was pinned under both Stiles and Kate, so it didn’t make sense, but it _felt_ like she was pulling him somewhere. 

It felt like going through the window again, only in slow, painstaking detail. 

Every inch of his skin felt like it was being peeled off in strips. 

“Get off,” Claudia grunted.

Stiles opened his eyes, which he’d squeezed shut in pain, to see her grabbing a fistful of Kate’s bright hair and dragging her off of him. She left deep grooves in the skin of Stiles’s neck as she was pulled away. 

Stiles gasped as air rushed back into his lungs; the pain Claudia had inflicted had distracted him from Kate’s throttling. 

He turned his head and shouted in panic when he saw his own face, scrambling away.

Things were brighter, real; he was the faded one here.

“Did—did we—?”

Claudia let go of Kate and wiped her face. “I dragged you through the veil—but I brought Kate, too, dammit.” She kicked Kate’s ribs viciously. “You, stay there.” She crossed to Stiles’s side and helped him to his feet. “Your hand didn’t bleed much,” she observed. 

“Yeah, I see that.” He looked over his shoulder. Kate was struggling to get to her feet, and light was filtering through the front door.

“Hey,” Claudia snapped. “I said _stay down_.” 

Stiles turned to the door more fully while Claudia handled Kate. 

The thorns obscuring the door parted quite theatrically, letting in Derek, trailed by Peter, Talia, Dominick, and Jordan.

Seeing Derek was like a punch to the gut; how could he have even _started_ to entertain the idea of staying away? Derek looked so _tired_ , but he looked good and Stiles just wanted to hold him.

Scott and Isaac tumbled in behind them, staring down at Stiles’s prone body with pained expressions. 

Kate shrieked with rage and lunged at Stiles, banging him into the floor again. They should have hit the desk, but they just fell through to the floor.

Stiles surprised himself by punching her, hard and without pausing to think about how to do it.

It knocked her halfway off him, so he scrambled out from under her. 

“I—I can’t.”

Stiles flinched; that was Derek’s voice, Derek’s real, living voice, and it drew all of their attention involuntarily. 

Talia touched Derek’s arm. “What do you mean, you can’t?” she asked gently.

Even Kate, on the floor holding her jaw, seemed entranced by their voices. 

Derek made a helpless gesture at Stiles’s body. “He’s asleep.”

“Yes, that’s been thoroughly proven,” Peter said, sounding irritated.

“Oh, no,” Stiles groaned.

Claudia dragged her gaze away from the living. “What? What’s wrong?”

“Derek has personal space issues.”

“What?”

“I can’t,” Derek repeated. “Stiles is—he’s sleeping, I can’t just-” He kept shaking his head and inching back, his face going pale.

Kate started laughing, turning over completely to watch the scene. “Looks like you’re stuck with us,” she giggled.

“Derek, this is the only way to wake Stiles up,” Dominick said cautiously. 

“But he won’t,” Kate sang.

“Yeah, you took care of that, didn’t you?” Stiles snapped. 

“Yeah, and it was a hardship, too. Kid didn’t know shit when I got to him.”

Stiles managed to turn away finally, fury curling his mouth into a snarl, but Claudia got to her first, her fist plowing into her stomach.

“No, no, I can’t just do something to him while he’s sleeping and he doesn’t even know I’m here.”

“Derek,” Scott said then. “I’m sure he won’t mind. He talks about kissing you, in detail, _every time_ we Skype. For at least an hour.”

“That’s different.” Derek looked like he might puke. “I don’t know if he wants to now. I can’t.” 

“No, no, no, Derek,” he said desperately. “I swear, it’s okay. It’s fine. I’m on board, one hundred percent on board, especially for curse breaking!” 

Derek hadn’t heard him, clearly.

“Derek, please. You have to hear me.” He got closer, trying to set his hand on Derek’s shoulder. “I’m right here! I’m even closer than I was before! On _your_ side of the veil!” 

“He can’t hear you!” Kate yelled, spraying blood from her mouth where Claudia had hit her again. “You’re done.”

“Would you shut up?” Claudia sighed.

“Derek.” Peter’s voice caught their attention. “Stiles would want you to do this.”

“ _I don’t know that!_ ” Derek scrubbed his face with shaking hands. “I can’t just do that—just kiss him without knowing or being okay with it.” 

“God, Derek, god, I thought we were getting past this. I’m okay with lifesaving kisses. Blanket consent for curse breaking kisses. Derek. Please.” 

“Not gonna hear you,” Kate taunted cheerily.

“Okay.” Peter rubbed his mouth. “Okay. Stiles got a message to me before.”

Derek’s hand jumped to his back pocket. “Yeah.”

“So maybe he’s hanging around like I was.” Peter cast a slow, thorough glance around the room; his gaze passed over Stiles without pause. “If Stiles gave you a sign, would you do it?”

Talia looked at him impatiently, but Stiles knew that Peter’s method would be faster, knowing Derek.

“Yes,” Derek mumbled. He was rubbing his thumb over a piece of paper he’d pulled from his pocket. 

“Stiles,” Peter said loudly, “we need you to do _something_ , anything, to let Derek know it’s okay with you for him to kiss you.” Peter looked around again.

“Mom, I can’t-”

“I’ll try,” she said, walking to the desk. She flickered like a bad TV as she swiped at the cups and lamps on the desk. “Sorry. Dragging you through drained me.” She tried again, fading to almost nothing after. 

While Stiles was watching her, Kate got up. She grabbed the back of his shirt and dragged him to the floor, slamming his head against it twice and leaving him dazed. 

She got her hands around his throat again, squeezing while he beat his heels against the floor, scratching at her hands frantically. 

“Not—waking—up,” she growled, squeezing even tighter.

With every frantic beat of his pulse, red flashed on the edges of his vision, all sound blocked out but the rush of his own blood in his ears, his sense of touch narrowed to the feeling of Kate’s hands around his neck. 

He mouthed soundlessly, trying to drag in air that wasn’t coming.

Something shattered and Kate squeezed tighter, snarling furiously.

The red at the edges of his vision started darkening to black, flooding in until it blotted out Kate’s face.

Someone whispered, “I love you,” before Kate was ripped away from him.

Warm lips touched his, stubble rasping against his chin, before everything went dark. 

 

Stiles gasped awake, his body jerking hard. The mouth pressing against his pulled away to give him space to breathe. He started coughing, reaching for his neck and grimacing. 

When he finally pried his eyes open, the first face he saw was Derek’s, tense with worry and hope. 

He smiled reflexively at the sight. “Hey, lover,” he croaked. 

Derek started laughing, dropping his head on Stiles’s shoulder; he jumped back when Stiles hissed in pain.

Everyone else crowded in then; Scott got on Stiles’s other side and grabbed his hand, beaming, while Isaac sat beside him. Peter put a hand on his ankle and shook his leg. 

A soft groan cut off any words they might have said, drawing their attention.

Lydia sat up slowly, pressing the heel of her hand to her head. “Ohh, that sucked.” She blinked at the crowd around Stiles. “I feel like I missed something.” 

“Just a little curse,” Scott said. “You slept through it.”

Her brows furrowed when a chuckle arose at that, until her gaze caught on Stiles. “You look terrible.” 

“Thanks.” He grimaced. “Someone help me up.”

Scott and Derek helped him sit up, mindful of the _many_ bruises he was sporting. A little souvenir from the afterlife, apparently. 

“What happened to you?” Talia demanded, crouching and grabbing his chin so she could look at the bruise on his face. “You were in here alone, we know you were. You can’t have fallen this hard.”

Stiles leaned against Scott—mostly because that was the direction he’d slumped in—and sighed. “I’ll explain soon, I promise.” He grimaced. “But first, I’m starving.”

Talia shook her head. “We should take you to the hospital to make sure you’re okay. You have bruises around your neck.”

“As long as we get food on the way, I don’t care where we go.” He looked around. “Can someone go get my dad, though?”

“I will,” Peter said at the same time Jordan offered, “I can.”

They glared at each other. 

“Why don’t you both go?” A woman Stiles had never met asked with distinct exasperation.

Stiles looked at Derek, puzzled, but he just shook his head tiredly. 

“We’ll trade stories,” Dominick offered. 

“Sounds good. I vote anywhere with enormous servings.” He grabbed Derek’s hand and held tight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay!!! :D Almost to the end, and the last chapter is just a bow


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3 <3 <3 I'm sorry I posted this sort of later than I normally do. I got so excited to post it that I forgot to post it which is weird and something that I apparently do! <3

The hospital wasn’t quite as orderly as it normally appeared by the time Stiles and his posse arrived, but it wasn’t complete discord, either. 

Melissa got Stiles a room and hugged him tight before she set about checking him over.

“The witch’s name is Maude,” Derek said. “She helped us find Hester _and_ the cure.”

Stiles nodded, unable to answer through his mouthful of fries. “So,” he managed, “what happened?”

“I bought a protection spell for our house,” Talia said. “It was tailored specifically for sleeping curses, which is why I assume it worked while the ones at the police station and schools didn't.”

“We called Aunt Talia and Derek back,” Mikaela said. “We figured we’d need all the help we could get.”

The whole pack, minus Peter and Jordan, plus Lydia, had squeezed into Stiles’s room. They all chimed in to fill him in while he ate and Melissa checked for broken bones and internal bleeding. 

John burst in when they finished, looking wildly relieved to see Stiles with a mouthful of burger. He grabbed him in a tight hug. “Hey, kid, you doing okay?”

“Better, now,” he sighed. “Where are Peter and Jordan?”

John leaned back. “They’re in the hallway arguing about something.”

“Sounds like Jordan’s lecturing Peter about speeding and Peter is calling him names.” Laura snickered. 

“I didn’t know they even knew each other.”

Stiles shook his head. “Me neither. I guess Jordan wasn’t affected by the curse and…helped out,” he said, glancing back at Derek.

He nodded. He was sitting beside Stiles on the bed, holding his free hand. Also Stiles’s bag of food was resting on his lap. 

“So, you feel okay?” Simon asked. He looked anxious and guilty, leaning against the far wall next to Lydia’s chair.

Lydia herself was sipping water—Melissa was worried about her being dehydrated. 

“Yeah, aside from being sore.”

“Yes, explain that, please. How’re you all bruised up if you were sleeping?” 

Stiles shot a quick, guilty look at both John and Derek. “Well, see, my consciousness was sort of awake. Or my soul? Or something. Something was aware.”

“Like ours?” Dominick asked. When Stiles looked confused, he explained, “You were aware of what was going on around you.”

“Not exactly. More like I was in some sort of between place. Um. Kate was there.” He winced. “And my mom.” 

Derek inhaled sharply; John, on the other hand, let out a long, even breath. 

“Kate sort of wanted revenge. She blamed me for her death. Mom helped me out. She actually got that message to you and made sure we were at the office when you guys were.” He went into more detail, hesitating over the glass incident but ultimately telling them. It wasn’t like he’d kept the actual lacerations. “And then I woke up,” he finished with jazz hands. 

“You’re okay, aside from the bruising,” Melissa said faintly. “Just—take it easy.” 

“Yep.” He looked around. “Thank you all for your help,” he said with a weak smile. 

“Of course,” Talia said. “We all look out for each other.” She rubbed her face. “I will be _flying_ to New York in a few days for our papers. No one get cursed while I’m gone.” She looked at the group. “Come on, let’s give everyone some space. I think we could all use some ice cream and some rest.”

“Peter and Jordan are still arguing,” Lucy said quietly when she approached the bed to say goodbye to Stiles. “They’re cussing a lot.” She squeezed his torso quickly before following her parents out of the room. 

Stiles looked at Derek. “They’ve been doing that a lot?” he guessed while the room emptied. 

“Uh, yeah.”

It took some prompting to get Cora to leave; when she did, she waved at Stiles sadly. Only John, Scott, Melissa, and Derek stayed in the room as everyone left. 

“I should probably go explain to Dr. Deaton about all the animals,” Scott said. “Um, and also gather volunteers to help take them all home.”

Melissa gave him a _look_. “Why aren’t you at school?”

“Curse breaking,” he said slowly, confused.

“Why does your _school_ think you’re not in school?”

“Ah. I may have told them my best friend was in a coma.” He shot Stiles a sunny smile. “It was _sort of_ like a coma.”

Stiles laughed. “I _was_ unconscious for days,” he said to Melissa. 

She shook her head. “Yeah, okay. Just get back as soon as you can, Scott. You’re almost finished and don’t want to fall behind now.”

“I won’t, promise. They love me.” He grinned and walked out, already calling Dr. Deaton.

“Okay, not gonna lie. I’m ready to go home and nap.”

“You were asleep for more than a week,” Derek pointed out.

“Huh. And yet.” He kissed Derek’s cheek and looked at John. “Mom said she wants us to be happy, Dad.” 

He flinched a little. “I am happy.” He rubbed his hand over Stiles’s head. “Come on, let’s go. We can have dinner at my place.” He glanced at Melissa. “You’re welcome to join us, Mel.”

She smiled. “Sure. I’ve got to finish up here.” She tapped the end of Stiles’s nose with his records. “Ice and ibuprofen.”

“You got it.” 

They walked out of the room together; Stiles was leaning heavily against Derek’s side while they did, yawning. It left enough room for Melissa and John to walk beside them. 

“Peter,” Derek sighed. “They’re still fighting right over there.” He shook his head.

No one got a chance to comment before something slammed against the wall violently just around the corner. 

They all ran, Derek yelling at Peter not to hurt anyone. 

“You can’t just hit hum—oh my god.” Derek recoiled, nearly knocking John over.

Jordan had his hands flat against the wall on either side of Peter’s head while Peter gripped his shirt; they were making out—angrily, it seemed. 

Stiles blinked. “What the hell _happened_ while I was out?” he wondered, looking around for help.

Melissa and John looked just as lost and Derek, with his hands over his face, was no help.

“You know what?” Stiles grabbed Derek’s arm and John’s wrist. “We’ll ask later. Jesus, get a room, and a _condom_ ,” he ordered, towing Derek and John around the two. “Mel, just—just save yourself. Run.” 

They escaped the hospital with Melissa’s laughter ringing in their ears. 

John took Jordan’s cruiser. “He’ll get a ride,” he reasoned, opening the back door.

“Yeah, I bet,” Stiles muttered.

“ _No_ ,” Derek said forcefully. 

Stiles laughed and climbed into the backseat first, groaning as his bruises ached. 

Derek curled Stiles into his lap while they drove; John didn’t reprimand them, which was nice of him.

“I’m sorry Kate hurt you again,” he said quietly, tracing his fingers over the collar of bruises on Stiles’s neck. The aches and pains faded as he did.

“It’s not your fault. This time she was mad at me for jumping in front of you.”

Derek sighed.

Stiles kissed his jaw. “Thanks for saving me.”

“You saved me first.”

“Yes.” He leaned his forehead against Derek’s. “Beauty and Aurora,” he said, smiling when the corners of Derek’s eyes crinkled. 

“That’s a movie I’d watch. Prince Philip and the Beast could live at the Beast’s mansion.”

Stiles laughed. “I love you,” he said, leaning in to kiss him; he was stopped by Derek’s hand on his chest. He tried not to look insulted or hurt. 

“I love you too,” Derek replied, slowly and clearly. 

Stiles’s heart leapt with joy. “Good to know,” he said soberly. 

Derek smiled. 

“You know, we got two happily ever afters,” Stiles said thoughtfully. “That’s pretty good.”

“We had to get cursed twice, though,” Derek pointed out.

“Two is good enough,” Stiles agreed. “Two happily ever afters.” He settled his head against Derek’s shoulder and closed his eyes. Two was perfect.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you liked it! I couldn't help myself with the Peter/Jordan thing, I just--it just happened. 
> 
> The third one is planned but not written--I need a brain break from this, but it should be ready by July/August! In the meantime I have other projects I'm preparing to post! I hope you enjoyed this!! 
> 
> Let me know what you thought! I love hearing from people!! <3 <3 <3

**Author's Note:**

> **Age chart because it is probably needed**
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> And, yes, Talia and Peter are 19 years apart. My mother is 17 years older than her youngest sibling, my best friend is 20 years older than HER youngest brother. So I didn't notice this was anything strange until someone pointed it out, lol.  
>  
> 
> Talia Hale: 46  
> Dominick: 43  
> Laura: 22  
> Simon: 18  
> Derek: 24  
> Cora: 12  
> Casey: 10
> 
>  
> 
> Ethan: 38  
> Laini: 39  
> Mikaela: 15  
> Emily: 13  
> Lucy: 9
> 
>  
> 
> Peter: 27
> 
>  
> 
> **I have Peter so young because I _thought_ that in canon he was close to Derek's age (enough that they were close when Derek was with Paige, I thought??) but I could be wrong. Either way, Peter's only 27 in this, so. **


End file.
